


Carbon Copy

by Drogna



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Also starring Rip Hunter, Clones, Gen, Hurt Rip Hunter, Hurt/Comfort, John turns up in chapter 4, Rip in Jail, RipFic, Time Bureau (DC's Legends of Tomorrow)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:35:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 54,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23600935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/pseuds/Drogna
Summary: Rip created the Time Bureau but he didn't intend to stay away for five years. He is on his way back to the Waverider, when the jumpship is shot down, and everything goes from bad to worse when an old enemy reveals themselves. Their scheme could destroy everything Rip has built.
Relationships: John Constantine/Rip Hunter
Comments: 21
Kudos: 37





	1. Fire

Rip awoke in a hospital, it was rather old fashioned by his standards, but his Legends would have probably seen it as a futuristic level of technology. His body ached, but in a far-off manner that suggested he was drugged. The sluggish way his thoughts moved confirmed that hypothesis.

He raised his head and caught sight of bandages, but his vision was blurry and it made him dizzy. He moved a little to test his limbs and where he was injured. The answer to that question was that he seemed to hurt mainly in his upper body, his chest particularly and the range of motion that he had was curtailed because he was cuffed to the bed at both wrists. That set alarm bells ringing in his head that were nothing to do with his injuries. To make matters worse, the cuffs were not time period appropriate for the hospital that he was in.

He searched his confused memory for an explanation. He’d left the Time Bureau to return to the Waverider. Gideon had been displeased that he’d left in the first place, but he’d promised her that he’d be back, so he was on his way back but he’d had something to do…. The Waverider was missing and he’d needed to find it. He had fully intended to be back as soon as he’d made the arrangements for… whatever he’d been doing. Something for the Time Bureau. He’d taken off without incident, and then, and then, and then… fire, flashing warning lights, and alert sirens blaring. He must have crashed but he did not remember how he had crashed. He just remembered trying to send a distress call to the Waverider.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a voice.

Rip frowned. It couldn’t be. He knew the voice well, but its owner was dead. He tried to make his eyes focus on the shape beside his bed as he tugged on the cuffs.

“You…” he managed, although his voice was dry and hardly there. A glass was pressed to his lips, and someone helped him to raise his head enough to drink.

“Rest now. I need you strong for the next phase. Don’t worry, I’ve chastised the pilot who shot you down. It would have been a terrible waste if you had died,” said the man. “I have so many plans for you.”

Rip blinked again as the water was taken away. He was barely maintaining awareness, but he didn’t want to pass out again without some answers.

“You’re dead,” he said, his voice had more force and disbelief in it now.

“You should know better than to believe I had no exit strategy,” replied the other. “Especially given the technology that I have at my disposal.”

The man moved and pressed a button on the medical equipment, and Rip felt something cool flood his veins. The pull of sleep hit him, and a deep sense of dread with it.

“We’ll talk again once you’ve recovered more. I will always be one step ahead of you, Rip.”

“You still… lost… the Oculus,” said Rip, his eyes falling closed.

“Indeed, and for that you will pay dearly,” replied former Time Master Druce, as Rip fell into unconsciousness again.

***

When he awoke again the scene had changed subtly. The drugs had been scaled back considerably if his clearer thinking was anything to go by, although he felt slower than normal. The bandages were still present, and there was pain now, although not so much that it was unbearable. He was in the same bed as before, his wrists still cuffed to the sides, but he had been moved to a new room and he had been dressed in a grey t-shirt and loose cotton pants.

A nurse was at his side, checking readings and doing whatever medical professionals did in situations like this. Rip didn’t have the spare mental capacity to think too hard on it. He looked around himself as much as he was able to, blinking heavily to try to get his eyes working better.

“Hello, Captain Hunter,” said the nurse, and he put down the tablet that he’d been using to write on. He was blond haired and had features that could have graced an actor or model.

“Where am I?” asked Rip, his voice as weak as earlier. “Where’s Druce?”

“I believe Mr Druce is busy at the moment with arrangements for his shipments, but you only have one more treatment before we can begin the process. Everyone is quite excited about this. You’re going to be the first of your product line,” said the nurse.

“The first of my product line?” asked Rip.

He didn’t like the sound of that. He needed to get out of here.

“Yes, it is quite the honour,” replied the nurse. “We’ve had a lot of requests for this service, but you will be the first.”

Rip looked down at the cuffs. They were probably from the 2200s, maybe later, and not easily pickable. The smooth surfaces indicated that they had no keys, and that was because they operated with a remote control that transmitted a signal to unlock them. He’d need something to cycle the frequencies to find the correct one that would unlock the cuffs, and they would be different for each cuff. He pulled on them testing their strength and his own ability to move his muscles after disuse.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said the nurse. “The metal has a tensile strength beyond a human’s ability to break it. It could result in your injury to make further tests of your strength.”

That seemed like a strange thing for a nurse to know.

“Who the hell are you? Why am I being held here? Where even is here?”

“My name is Evan. You have been brought here after committing unspecified crimes against the state. This is the headquarters of Advanced Variant Automation in Vancouver, Canadian Democratic Protectorate. Does that answer your questions?”

The light caught Evan’s eyes and Rip saw the way they reflected strangely now that he was looking for it.

“Some of my questions. You’re an android,” said Rip, more to confirm his own thoughts than for any other reason.

“I am. AVA have been producing my product line for a little over a year now. Evan stands for Electronic Variant Automation Node,” said Evan. “However, new product lines are constantly being brought in and you are lucky enough to be part of a new trial for bespoke models.”

“Lucky,” said Rip, bitterly, “I doubt that I am lucky. If this was such a privilege then there would be no need for the handcuffs, would there?”

“That is beyond my programming to answer,” said Evan.

“Of course it is,” said Rip, tiredly. “Evan, I am not a criminal. I have not been arrested or tried for my crimes. Mr Druce captured me and brought me here. I have no idea why. You have to help me get out of here, or at least help me get a message to my ship.”

Evan looked at him curiously.

“I was told that you would say words to this effect. I believe that this is what is known as lying,” said Evan. “Would you like some water? You lost a substantial amount of blood and burns also cause dehydration.”

“Yes,” said Rip, after only a moment of hesitation.

The change in direction of the conversation had been enough to mean that it took him a moment to catch up. The android moved exactly like a human and if it wasn’t for the slightly strange reflection in the eyes then Rip probably wouldn’t have guessed that his companion was mechanical. At least not until he opened his mouth and spoke. Evan didn’t talk like a human, even if his voice was perfectly pitched to sound like one.

Evan helped Rip to drink from a glass. His bound hands couldn’t move far enough to hold a glass to his mouth without some seriously painful contortions. Once that exercise was complete, Evan busied himself treating the burns that Rip had on his arms and torso. They had clearly once been quite severe but they were fading, and this treatment, which reminded him of an earlier version of the technology of the Waverider’s medbay, was healing them further. The pain eased as well, which was a welcome effect of the skin returning to normal.

“How long have I been here?” asked Rip.

“It is three days and sixteen hours since you were brought in,” said Evan.

Rip’s heart sank. That was nearly four days and Gideon hadn’t found him. That suggested that his distress call hadn’t been received or she and the Legends hadn’t been able to pinpoint his location. Perhaps they had found his crashed ship and determined that he was dead. Or maybe they were out there still searching for him. If the Legends knew that he was missing then they wouldn’t stop looking for him until all hope was lost. Rip held onto that thought. The only way he was going to get through this and find a way of escaping was if he didn’t give up hope.

“What year is it?” asked Rip.

“It is 2212,” replied Evan, as he replaced bandages.

Rip frowned. There was something about Vancouver in the 2200s that he should be remembering, but it was still hard to get his thoughts in order. The 2200s wasn’t really his era in any case. He’d always been more interested in the earlier part of human history than the high technology era. He knew the broad strokes of history from the 2100s onwards but definitely not in the same detail as the years before that. It was impossible to keep the entirety of human history in one human brain, but Time Masters had their AIs to help them with knowledge that they couldn’t memorise.

Rip wished for the second time in the space of a few minutes that he had Gideon here to help him. She would have been able to give him the important events that he was missing.

“You should get some more rest,” said Evan. “Your vitals are not yet within completely normal parameters for your age, size and sex. The sedation may have suppressed some of your standard function, and it will take a few more hours to leave your body.”

That explained why he still didn’t feel as sharp as he would expect. Perhaps if he gave himself a little more time then he could find a way out of this. His general survey of the room suggested that there was nothing within his limited range of motion that could help. He’d already used his pickpocketing skills to check whether Evan had anything on him, but the android didn’t even have pockets to pick.

Druce had said something about making him pay for the Oculus, which he supposed was only to be expected. He would love to know how the man had managed to escape the explosion. Rip was usually good at planning for any situation that might arise, especially on his home turf, and it had been Druce who had taught him those skills. Perhaps he should have been less surprised to find his former mentor alive and well.

Druce had also taught him what to do when captured. It was a lesson that had kept him alive in Vandal Savage’s prison. Eat food when you can, drink water when you can, rest when you can and escape when you can. Right now, he had the opportunity to rest, so he should take it. He had no idea of what was to come, but there was a much higher chance of being able to escape if his cuffs were removed. Whatever they had planned for him then that would have to be part of it. There would be a moment when he would have his hands freed.

For now, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, using one of the many techniques he’d learnt as a cadet. He relaxed his muscles, and breathed. Gideon and the Legends were probably out there looking for him right now.

He was awoken a short time later by the sound of the voice of Zaman Druce. He would recognise that voice until his dying day. It did not hold good memories for him and the bad ones were only increasing. He pulled open his eyes to see that Druce had brought other people with him this time. There was another two of the Evan androids, who were dressed in scrubs and held various medical equipment. They were accompanied by a blonde haired woman who looked as if she might be Evan’s sister. She was dressed in the uniform of a security guard and had the AVA logo embroidered on the pocket of her tac vest.

Rip’s mind was already working, trying to see an opportunity for him to escape. There was only one exit from the room and it was currently guarded by the woman. They still hadn’t removed the cuffs either.

“Ah, Rip,” said Druce. “You’re awake just in time to find out why you’re here.”

A metal device was wheeled into the room, and it looked unmistakably like the headset from the Cognitive Intrusion chair. Rip’s eyes immediately went wide. This would be unpleasant, but he’d used the device before and he was quite capable of defeating it if necessary. Druce didn’t seem to be focused on the CI device though. He was looking at a gurney that had just been wheeled into the room that had another man on it, who was also dressed in white scrubs and strapped down. It was hard to see who the other man was. Druce was doing his utmost to block Rip’s line of sight.

“It’s a shame that you lost your memory recording. It would have negated the need for much of this,” said Druce, as a second cognitive intrusion headset was wheeled into the room.

“What is this?” asked Rip. “If you want information then you could try just asking for it.”

“As if you would deign to tell me any of your secrets. You wouldn’t even do that when we were working together,” said Druce. “I have rather tired of your obstinacy over the years.”

“Is this why you needed me recovered, so that I would be able to tolerate Cognitive Intrusion?” asked Rip. “Why did you bring me here?”

Druce smirked unpleasantly.

“I have need of your Time Bureau,” he said. “I just have no need for its founder. Luckily I have a solution to that.”

The former Time Master clicked his fingers and the two Evans brought the Cognitive Intrusion device over to the bed, where they positioned it around Rip’s head.

“I have deputies and they will carry on the work even without me,” said Rip. “This will get you nowhere. I have been very careful to ensure that even if something happens to me, the Time Bureau can continue.”

He’d also set up his security measures so that he would be removed from any important systems and data if he didn’t properly renew his clearance. That included a physical scan of his retina and thumb print for a number of the more sensitive areas. Druce could take the knowledge out of his head, but his passwords would be useless by now. He failed to see what Druce planned to achieve with this.

“You think so little of me. I’ve told you before, I have a plan for everything,” said Druce, and he stepped back to reveal the sleeping man in the other bed.

The other man was Rip Hunter, or at least a very close facsimile. The only discernible differences were that his hair was shorter and he had no beard.

Rip was speechless for a moment, his eyes flicking between his doppelganger and Druce. The other Cognitive Intrusion device was being positioned around the head of the other man.

“You cloned me,” he said, cold dread in his voice. “Why? What do you get from this?”

“I get the ability to have a version of Rip Hunter who does as I say,” said Druce. “And the Time Bureau will be mine. It’s only fair after you took the Time Masters from me that I should get your Bureau.”

Finally, Rip understood. This wasn’t an extraction of his secrets, this was a copying. Druce was taking an imprint of his thoughts and memories and transferring them to the clone. He pulled against the cuffs with a futile gesture that even he knew would get him nowhere. It was no longer about escape, but defiance. He would not be an easy victim.

“You have done nothing to make you worthy of being given a second chance!” spat Rip.

“Says the man who helped to shatter time itself,” said Druce. “The universe cannot afford to have you in charge of its destiny.” Druce looked over at the two Evans. “Do it. We’ll make the recording, and I’ll edit it before we do the final transfer.”

One of the Evans held him down as more straps were produced and Rip did his best to fight an increasingly losing battle until his strength gave out. Cognitive Intrusion device was turned on and Rip’s world became increasingly uncomfortable as the machine did its work.

His life flashed before him, faster and faster as Druce set the machine to its highest setting, probably due to his impatience. When Rip had made his own memory recording he had been much more careful, and whilst it had taken longer, it hadn’t been painful. Emotions weren’t meant to be experienced in such rapid and intense bursts. One moment he was crying because a gang of street kids had stolen his last piece of bread and then next he was feeling the joy of his new son in his arms. The machine did not progress linearly through his thoughts, because memory didn’t file itself away neatly. Things were associated in clusters of memories with similar themes. Sometimes that theme was the death of those around him, other times it was a particular historical event, but he had not led a particularly happy life so many of his memories were miserable or even traumatic when re-experienced. The parts where he was working for the Time Masters were filled with adrenaline fuelled desperation, fear and action that was not at all calming when viewed forcibly. Even his quiet, happy moments with his family evoked deep sadness and grief now.

Rip couldn’t help but groan with pain as his brain was violated and his entire life was catalogued and stored away. This would leave scars. He knew that because he’d been briefed on the proper use of the machine and this was not how it should be done. He was very relived when the device finished its work and he was left breathing hard but free of the trauma of seeing the death of Miranda and Jonas again, or stalking his crew, intent on their murder, through a darkened Waverider.

He could feel the tears in his eyes, and hear the heart monitor beeping loudly as his pulse went soaring from the stress the process had put on him. He was damp with sweat and breathing hard. His mind felt like it was on fire and as if it couldn’t stand even a single other memory, but they had been right in his mind’s eye and he couldn’t help but play them over again. His body twitched as his confused brain fired nerves in random locations.

The world around him faded into sepia tones and became far away. People around him were talking, but he couldn’t make out the words. His mind simply couldn’t process anymore at this point. He had no idea how much time passed as his neurons refused to calm.

When he was eventually able to pay attention, his clone was sitting up in the bed beside his own and looking at him with distaste. He supposed that the feeling was mutual. He frowned though because the clone was not talking to Druce but to Director Bennett.

“Wilbur?” asked Rip, the name little more than a whisper.

The man smiled, and Rip immediately knew that this wasn’t Bennett.

“Not quite,” said Druce, in his own voice.

“Chameleon technology,” whispered Rip.

Druce pressed a button on a device at his neck that seemed to disappear to match his skin and the next time he spoke even his voice sounded like Bennett’s.

“Yes, it is quite advanced during this period,” said Druce.

“You’re going to take his place,” Rip realised, with dismay. “You’re going to kill him.”

“A necessary sacrifice,” said the fake Bennett, and he turned to the clone who was putting on the clothes that Rip had been wearing when his jumpship had been attacked. “Come on, Rip. We have a Time Bureau to run.”

“Yes, we do,” said his twin, as he shrugged on Rip’s coat and strapped a Time Courier around his wrist. “What will we do with him?” he asked, with a look in Rip’s direction.

“We’ll find a place for him, once we’re settled in,” said Druce with Bennett’s mouth.

Rip knew there was no point arguing or shouting. He gave Druce a cold look.

“You won’t get away with this,” said Rip. “Someone will realise you’re not who you pretend to be.”

“I doubt it. The only person in your organisation who really knows Wilbur Bennett is you, it’s how you wanted it. You brought the best operatives that you could find to the Bureau, for which I am very grateful. Luckily very few of them knew each other before they started working at the Bureau. And I doubt you have made any effort to get to know the people you work with, not that it matters since I have _you_ right here,” Druce indicated the doppelganger. “You’ve given me the perfect set up for a takeover.”

Rip’s hand jerked against his cuffs. Druce was right and the accusation stung with its truth.

The other Rip raised his wrist and typed in the coordinates for the Time Bureau into the Time Courier. A doorway opened and Rip could see his office in the Time Bureau on the other side. The two men stepped through, and the portal shut behind them.

Rip slumped in the bed, with his head aching and unable to sort his thoughts into any kind of order. He had to get out of here, but he also now needed time for his body to recover from the torture of the Cognitive Intrusion device. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his inflamed neurons. All he could do was hope that Bennett realised what was going on before the worst happened.

***

Druce returned several hours later, and he had two of the blonde women with him, and they were completely identical. Either they were twins, androids like the Evans or clones like his own counterpart. He would probably go with clones because their eyes didn’t have the unusual shine to them that the Evans did. The Evan models disconnected the various medical devices, leaving Rip free of tubes and wires, but still cuffed at the wrists. The two blonde women approached, one taking up position on either side.

“These are Ava clones,” said Druce, as they undid Rip’s cuffs, confirming Rip’s own hypothesis. “They are the current pinnacle of genetic manipulation and the same technology which allowed me to create your twin. Each one is made to serve its master, without emotion or deliberation.”

“They’re slaves, you mean,” said Rip.

He had anticipated this moment, when they finally had to move him and he would have a chance at escape. He could see the Time Courier on Druce’s wrist. He just needed to snatch it and he would be gone.

“They’re tools,” replied Druce. “Would you call a wrench a slave?”

The Avas appeared unmoved by Druce’s words.

“If it had a brain and the capacity to think, then yes,” said Rip, rubbing at his wrists where the cuffs had been. He was weaker than would have been ideal. “So, you murdered Bennett.”

“A regrettable necessity,” said Druce.

Finally they put the bedrails down and Rip swung his legs out of the bed and aimed a right hook at Druce’s jaw. It clearly surprised the former Time Master, as it connected cleanly and Druce fell back. He used his momentum to reach for the sidearm on the Ava’s belt but the she caught Rip’s hand and before he knew it, his arm was wrenched painfully behind his back and he was on the floor on his knees. He hadn’t realised how quick the clone’s reflexes were, and now that he struggled against her hold, he found that they were also unusually strong.

Druce dabbed at the blood that trickled from the side of his mouth.

“Try that again and I may reconsider my decision to keep you alive,” said Druce, angrily. The man always had a temper, something that he’d hypocritically counselled Rip to control in himself.

Druce opened a time portal and the two Avas dragged Rip to his feet and into a place that Rip recognised as the cells of the Time Bureau. They were taking him to an area that had previously been unused. He fought as hard as he could as they moved, but they simply dragged him down the corridor, gripping him firmly, with Druce following behind. The group entered a room at the far end of the corridor, dimly lit and without windows. He was thrown into a circular area at its centre that was several metres across. The Ava guards had not entered the circle. When he got up, and tried to charge his captors, he found out that a forcefield surrounded the area.

He sprawled on the ground again. It had been like running into a brick wall and he could feel the bruises blossoming. It seemed that they had created a new type of cell, just for him.

“This won’t work!” he shouted.

“It already has,” said Druce. “You put into place much of what I need. The Time Bureau was an inspired idea. And if I control the man who created it, then I have control over the Bureau. A situation that you didn’t foresee, but I can’t blame you for a lack of clairvoyance there. Don’t worry, you’ll be quite comfortable here while I fix your mistakes.”

“Mistakes!? I did what I had to do! There was no other way.”

“You’re so naïve that I believe you really do think that,” said Druce. “But time is fractured and you are responsible. If you had brought the Spear to the Time Masters it would have been protected, but instead you chose to try to take care of it yourself, resulting in your inevitable failure. However, you have offered me an opportunity to reassemble the broken timeline in a form that will benefit us all.”

“No! That isn’t what the Time Masters stand for. You made the same oaths that I did. We protect the timeline, we don’t change it,” said Rip, pushing himself to his feet and stepping up to the edge of the forcefield.

“We have always made discreet alterations, guiding time on its course,” said Druce. “This is just ensuring our survival.”

“You know that’s wrong,” said Rip. “You’re doing this because you want power, not out of some idealistic notion of making the timeline better. The anachronisms need to be fixed, I know, but there is a bigger threat out there. You know that."

“Your clone is the better version of you. I need your secrets and your ingenuity in the days to come. I do not need your rebellious nature or your lack of commitment to our goals,” said Druce.

“So you’re just going to lock me in here? Or is this just a temporary solution until you can find time to execute me like you planned back at the Vanishing Point?”

“I need to make sure that our clone is fully functional, so for now, you are my insurance policy,” said Druce. “I suggest you pray to whatever god you worship that the clone does as I want, because if not, I will be forced to repeat the process and take a deeper scan. A process that you might not survive.”

Rip’s eyes flashed with anger at that, although there was little left of his former loyalty to Druce, somehow this man played upon his emotions. He had thought that he was his friend for years, and he could not forget such betrayal. Druce was turning to go, but if Rip was going to be stuck here then he at least needed to give the Time Bureau a fighting chance. Bennett had been the only one that he’d fully imparted his fears to and now Bennett was dead.

“Ask the clone about Mallus. My notebook was in the pocket of my coat. Do that and then you might have a hope of understanding what we’re up against. Unless you wiped those memories along with whatever else you did to him to make him into your lackey,” said Rip, desperately.

Druce just laughed, hollowly.

“Mallus is a myth used to frighten children. There are no such things as time demons,” said Druce.

“There are, and the corridor of time is at the most vulnerable it has ever been. I acknowledge my part in that, but you have to listen to me. I’ve been researching Mallus for a while now. His influence is appearing in multiple places and I’ve been following up leads for a way to stop him. I need to meet up with the Legends again…”

Druce cut him off.

“Clearly I stepped in at the right moment. This utter nonsense won’t be tolerated at my Time Bureau. We have far more important work to do. And I have found your Legends, trapped in a time storm. It was a simple matter of tracking the harmonic resonances, but I always thought that you and Lieutenant Coburn spent too much of that class making eyes at each other. No wonder you didn’t think to try that approach to finding your second-rate superhero team. I expect the storm to spit them out in Los Angeles in a few months’ time, at which point I will ensure that we deal with them.”

Rip felt his final shred of hope vanish. They wouldn’t receive his distress call if they were trapped in a time storm and no one was looking for him. He was in this on his own.

Druce stalked out of the room, taking the two Avas with him.

***

The clone of Rip Hunter walked through the time portal in Los Angeles, ready to greet the Legends. He was aware of how much these people meant to his original, but to him they were just another piece of the past to be dispensed with.

“Well, you’ve really buggered things up this time,” said the clone, placing the blame squarely on the shoulders of the Legends.

It actually felt quite good to put them in their place. Here he was with more experience of time travel in his pinkie than all seven of them had together. Albeit it was experience that he remembered but wasn’t actually his, per se, but that didn’t really matter.

They didn’t seem to even notice that he wasn’t the original. No one mentioned the blue suit, the lack of beard or the shorter hair, perhaps they just thought it was a fashion statement. This was much easier than he thought it was going to be. Still, they needed to be dealt with. There was the risk that if they got too close then they might realise that he was just a copy of their friend. He put his sunglasses on and regarded the chaos around him as he dismissed the Legends, telling them that their services were no longer required.

That made the Legends unhappy, but he could deal with unhappy. Or rather he had agents who would escort the Legends away from the danger of the epicentre of a time storm, and he could deal with the Waverider just as Druce had asked.

The ship had crash-landed only a couple of streets away. His memories suggested that fooling Gideon would be a much more difficult task, but he was as much Rip Hunter as the man who had provided the genetic material and experiences, it shouldn’t be that hard to pretend to be the man he actually was. What was a man if they were not the sum of their experiences? And he had all of those.

He had almost all of those.

Druce had been upfront with the fact that he had deleted some of the original’s memories. There had been some parts of his memories that Druce had considered to be why the other Rip had turned on his mentor, so he had removed those and decided to give his clone a second chance. It seemed quite a generous thing to do, and the clone approved, despite his niggling doubts. They had work to do and that was the important thing. Protecting the timeline always came first.

He entered the Waverider and it felt like home, even though these particular feet had never walked on its decks before. He felt emotion associated with this ship. A half formed thought flashed across the backs of his eyes. It was a mere shadow of a memory, one where he had been thinking about how hard it was to keep _anything_ from Gideon, let alone… something. The end of the memory seemed to be missing. He frowned thoughtfully, but there was no point dwelling on something that wasn’t there. Druce had deleted those memories for a reason.

“Gideon, I’m so glad to be back on board,” he said, with genuine feeling.

“Captain Hunter,” greeted his ship. “It is good to have you back on board.”

“Director Hunter now, Gideon. I have a lot to update you on, and I need to fly you back to the Time Bureau,” said the clone.

“The Time Bureau?” asked Gideon, as he emerged onto the bridge.

“Indeed. I have founded a replacement organisation for the Time Masters, but a better one,” said the clone. “I needed help protecting the timeline and now I have it, although it’s taken me a while to get here.”

“Where are the Legends?” asked Gideon. “Will they be assisting us?”

“No, they will not. I think it’s time we dispensed with their dubious help,” replied the clone, taking a seat in the pilot’s chair. “Especially after they were the ones who caused this mess.”

“I believe you also had a hand in that,” said Gideon.

“I advised them against it!” said the clone, crossly. “But that’s beside the point. We have work to do.”

He powered up the engines, spooling up the time drive and noting the various damage indicated by the red warning lights on the board in front of him. The Legends had not treated his ship well and that annoyed him inexplicably. It was just a ship. A vessel made of metal and nothing more, but then he did have a long relationship with his AI, perhaps that was why he felt so angry about the damage. Gideon was a valuable asset.

“I am sorry to see that you decided to shave off your beard,” said Gideon.

“I needed to look more professional as the head of the Time Bureau and the scruffy beard didn’t really fit with the image,” said the clone.

“I would not have described it as scruffy,” said Gideon.

The clone was perplexed, his hand hovering over the controls for a second before he continued the start-up checks. Was that affection in Gideon’s tone? How utterly baffling. She was a machine. He turned his mind back to the issue at hand.

“Maybe I’ll grow it back later,” he found himself saying, as if he was worried about the feelings of a computer, an object who could only have fake feelings anyway.

He pulled back on the control lever and lifted the Waverider off the ground. The ship would be important in building a new time fleet, but it was very old now. He supposed that it was only to be expected that she had picked up a few quirks over time. He flew the ship up and back towards the Time Bureau’s new hangar.

“Your reflex times are slower than usual,” said Gideon. “I would suggest that you pay a visit to the medbay so that I can scan you in case there are any health issues that we should be aware of.”

“I’m fine, Gideon. Just out of practice,” said the clone.

The discrepancy could be that or the fact that these muscles had never really flown a ship before, it wasn’t something that he hadn’t considered until now. He had assumed that because he remembered doing it then he could, and that had been right as far as it went.

Gideon worried him. If she could detect such slight changes then it was possible that she might also realise that his behaviour was now subtly different. Then she might begin to wonder why that was, and he couldn’t let her find out what was going on.

The clone landed the Waverider at the Time Bureau.

“This is quite impressive, Director Hunter,” said Gideon. “I am detecting an advanced data network, and time monitoring systems. Miranda and Jonas would be very proud of everything that you have achieved.”

The clone didn’t recognise those names, although there was the same feeling of the edge of a memory that he’d had when he came on board. There was something about those names.

“Thank you, Gideon,” he replied, only half-heartedly. This was another reason that Gideon was dangerous to keep around.

Druce was waiting for him when he disembarked.

“We might have a problem,” said the clone. “Gideon knows me rather well, perhaps too well.”

Druce raised his eyebrows.

“I think we should put the Waverider into retirement for now. We could make good use of her as a ship to train our agents,” said Druce, casting his eye over the ship. “I was thinking that we should update our fleet. I don’t think the Waverider and her AI will be necessary anymore.”

The clone nodded. “I agree.”

“How did your other errand go?” asked Druce, as the two men walked back towards the offices.

“I’ve sent the Legends home, but I think we should encourage Miss Jiwe to return to her own time. She is necessary to the timeline’s integrity,” said the clone.

“Yes, I think that would be wise,” said Druce. “We can make it happen, I’m sure. I’ll put some agents on planting the relevant triggers to make her think twice about remaining. If that doesn’t work then we’ll move on to something more… active.”

The clone smiled, but it faded a moment later.

“Who are Miranda and Jonas? Gideon mentioned them, but they’re not names that I remember,” said the clone.

“The reason why you became necessary. They are the people who led the original Rip Hunter to abandon his vows to protect the timeline,” said Druce. “Put them from your mind. They’re unimportant. I won’t speak of them anymore.”

The clone wanted to ask more, but Druce seemed to be very clear on the idea that wasn’t something that he should be asking about. A memory prodded him, more a feeling. It was utter desolation, a grief that seemed to have unknown depths, but then the emotion was gone and he had no idea why he’d felt it. He shook it off. He had other questions that he needed to raise with his mentor.

“I’ve been going through his notebook, as you asked. He believed this was a serious threat, and I have,” he stopped and corrected himself, “ _he_ was gathering information that could well back up that theory. I think he might have been right.”

Druce looked at the clone with surprise, and then he laughed.

“I thought that I had managed to rid you of your lack of logic,” said Druce. “Mallus is a myth. How many times do I have to say this.”

“Bennett believed him,” said the clone, in a whisper.

“Just as well that he’s dead then,” Druce hissed through his teeth. “He was obviously an idiot.”

“The whole reason for my existence is because you needed a dedicated agent who would stop at nothing to protect time, without emotion or distraction. You made me into that. I am telling you that I believe this threat is real,” said the clone.

“And you answer to me. I don’t want you chasing shadows,” said Druce. “Now, deal with getting the AI shut down, or perhaps I should ask Agent Sharpe to do it.”

The clone realised the veiled threat that Druce was implying. It was possible to make a clone believe whatever you wanted. They had needed another agent under their control, so they had taken a clone and turned her into Rip’s protégé. It gave her a sense of loyalty to both him and the Time Bureau.

But clones could be reset and made to believe whatever was required. They had even given Ava a fake family to visit. Druce would do the same to the clone of Rip Hunter too if it was needed.

Originally all the contacts had been Rip’s. He’d been the one to negotiate the treaties and establish the working relationships. He’d personally recruited most of the Time Bureau agents, but that wasn’t the case any longer. Druce had inserted himself into every aspect of the Time Bureau, taking much of the responsibility away from Rip. There were plenty of agents in the organisation that Druce had brought with him to help the Bureau do its work. There would be very little to stop him at this point if he wanted to simply take control.

The clone needed to make himself indispensable. He had to be whatever Druce needed him to be, and that was apparently a version of Rip Hunter who did as he was told.

That was something of a task. Rip Hunter had not been a man who did as he was told easily or without proper justification. He had a sense of duty, and he would follow orders for that reason, but it was only because he trusted his superiors to share that sense of duty. Even the clone knew that Rip no longer trusted Druce and that was making it very hard for him to blindly trust the man as he had in the past.

None of that mattered though. He was protecting the timeline. That was his job, and the reason he had been brought into existence.

“I’ll do what’s required,” said the clone. “Leave it with me.”

Druce eyed him up, but finally decided to take that as a good enough answer. The older man nodded approvingly and returned to his office.

The clone sighed. Maybe there was a way he could fix this. The Legends were not well known for their stability, it was highly likely that they would want to find a way to meddle in the timeline again. Perhaps he could use that.

***


	2. Dreams

Druce had been clever. He had built an entirely new cell for Rip, probably expecting his prisoner to have added ways to escape his own cells. It was a valid concern since Rip had done exactly that in the other Time Bureau cells. He had overseen the building of those areas himself, making sure that they were secure for everyone except him.

Rip had examined the new cell very carefully when he had initially been thrown into it, desperate to find any way out, but he had found none. He was surrounded by a forcefield that would allow things to be passed into and out of the cell. The only thing it wouldn’t allow to pass through it was Rip. It was keyed to his DNA and had been the moment he’d been thrown through it when he first entered the cell. He was intimately familiar with the way that it worked because he had designed it.

There was no way of dropping the forcefield from inside the cell. There was no way of climbing over the forcefield because it emanated from the ceiling. There was no way of getting under the forcefield because it also met the floor. The only hole in the floor was the drainage for the toilet and washbasin which was far too small to help him. There was no privacy so he had no opportunity to fashion any kind of tools or weapons. The cell was in the centre of a room and monitored both by a guard, one of three Evan clones, and cameras at all times.

One of his earliest attempts at escape had involved breaking the taps so that the cell flooded with water, necessitating a visit by someone to fix the problem. Rip had expected a plumber to be called or perhaps for one of his guards to be sent to fix it. Instead he had been gassed into unconsciousness and had awoken on his bed with a set of new taps on the basin. Rather than taking any kind of chance with him, they had just rendered him unconscious. It had been a sobering moment, but hope was not lost yet. He would keep observing his captors and hopefully something would come to him soon.

The Evan, who was his jailer, had very strict orders about the items that Rip was allowed in his cell. It did not include technology of any kind. He had asked for some kind of device that would play music and been denied even that. The Evans did put the radio on for him occasionally, but for some reason he was never allowed to listen to it for more than an hour or two, and he was never permitted to hear a news broadcast. He _was_ allowed pencils to write with, but not pens, and given loose paper rather than bound pads. There was a bed, made of very sturdily constructed wood, a small table and chair, but that was all. He had to ask for lights to be dimmed or turned on because that was outside his control, although his requests weren’t usually denied.

And he was allowed books, something that had so far managed to keep him mostly sane.

He didn’t get much choice in reading material, probably because they thought he would somehow find a way to use it to escape. Rip wished that he could imagine any novel that could help him out of his current predicament. This week’s selection did include some interesting things though, so for once he was reading a novel with enthusiasm rather than just because he had nothing better to do.

Rip was lying on his bed, lost in his book when he realised that he had a visitor. The doppelganger was here, stood in the shadows, watching him. He must have come in when the shift change happened. The Evan who was his usual guard was nowhere to be seen, a surprising breach of protocol that Druce would disapprove of.

“Looking for pointers?” asked Rip, acerbically, his words were bitten off and sharp. He barely glanced up.

“I don’t need to watch you to know how to be you,” said the other Rip. “I am you.”

“Maybe by some definitions. None that actually matter,” he said, still ignoring his visitor. Boredom made him turn his head and ask: “Then what are you doing here?”

There was silence for a moment, but the clone moved forwards, as if fascinated by his original. When he spoke, the words that came out were almost embarrassed, as if he didn’t want to speak at all.

“I keep dreaming about a woman… I feel like I knew her. It must be one of your rogue memories, one of the ones that Druce cut out before he made the transfer. Perhaps he didn’t entirely remove all vestiges of it,” said the clone.

Rip’s eyebrows lowered as he regarded the other man. The clone was clean shaven and wearing a blue suit with the tie at half-mast around his neck. He wondered why the clone had never chosen to copy his original’s beard, perhaps it was his small piece of individuality or maybe even rebellion. Rip had to wonder what it must be like, knowing that you were a copy of someone whose life you had stolen. It was the clone’s only purpose in life, to be Rip Hunter and take over a life that had once belonged to him. At least the Evans could lead their own, rather limited, existences. The Avas too, but not this clone. All he had was being as close to the original as possible.

“Is there a question in this? I’m quite engrossed in this book,” said Rip, turning back to his novel again.

“I want to know about her. Who was she?” the clone asked.

Something in the tone of his voice made Rip pay attention again. The clone looked tired, and Rip knew what that felt like intimately. Rip wondered if perhaps things weren’t going terribly well with Druce’s plans. Or perhaps it was the dreams that he had apparently come to talk about, disrupting his sleep.

“Why are you asking me about it? If Druce wanted you to know then he’d have left the memory intact,” said Rip, dismissively. “Go ask your master.”

“I did ask. He refused to talk about her. He said that she was the reason why you’d become corrupted,” said the Clone. “He told me to put her from my mind, but the dreams keep coming back.”

“I see and now you’re worried that you will share my fate if you remember,” said Rip, without sympathy. “Forgive me if I find it hard to muster much sympathy for my captor’s lackey.”

“I didn’t ask to be this,” said the clone, tersely, with a wave of his hand. It was very strange to see himself reflected so. “I owe Druce. He created me, and he won’t let me forget that. But I don’t feel complete… I don’t know who I am.”

Rip looked at the clone and for the first time he felt sympathy. Druce had screwed them both over in various ways. He put down the book that he’d been reading, and stood, taking the couple of steps to the side of the cell nearest his visitor.

“The woman in your dreams is Miranda. She was my wife and the reason why I left the Time Masters. Druce had her and my son killed. I discovered that he had used their death to manipulate me and help bring a man named Vandal Savage to power, supposedly to defeat an alien invasion in the far future of Earth,” said Rip. “The invasion is real, but there are other ways to deal with it than giving power to a madman.”

“You had a family,” said the other Rip, with understanding. “He removed the memories of your family.”

“No doubt to ensure you only remembered your loyalty to him and not the things that he did which resulted in myself and the Legends destroying the Time Masters,” said Rip.

“Tell me about her. Please,” said the clone, almost desperately. “I can’t sleep…”

“Why?” asked Rip. “She was _my_ wife, not yours! You’ve taken _my life_ and locked me up here!”

“Because…” began the clone, but tailed off sadly. His voice became soft and so small that Rip almost couldn’t hear him. “Because it hurts. The dreams hurt, and I need your help. I know you, because I am you. You want to help people. You have a moral code…”

Rip looked at the other man. He was obviously distressed and also right that Rip did have a moral code. He didn’t enjoy making other people suffer and certainly not unnecessarily.

“If I tell you about Miranda, I want something in return,” said Rip.

“What?” asked the clone.

“I want my notebook. I’m sure you know the one,” said Rip.

To his surprise, the clone reached into his jacket and removed the notebook from his inner pocket.

“This one?” he asked, holding it up.

“Yes,” said Rip.

The clone held it for a moment, appearing to think about it.

“Mostly your research is little more than rumour and legend,” said the clone.

“I think it’s slightly more than that now,” said Rip.

“I know,” replied the clone. “But we’ve already discussed how deluded you are.”

The clone offered it to Rip, pushing it through the forcefield but unable to actually hand it to the prisoner. They shared DNA so the clone could not enter the cell anymore than Rip could leave it. Rip accepted the book with all of its secrets and lies, everything that he’d managed to collect on a myth that may yet turn out to be real. It had been an obsession, to find out as much as he could about a whisper of a threat that he’d barely taken seriously himself for the first year of his investigations.

He ran a hand over the leather cover. At first it had only been a memory of a story that the Time Masters had in their mythology. If the corridor of time was damaged then Mallus would be set loose upon the world to burn and destroy. It would reshape time in whatever image it wished. Rip hadn’t really believed there was any truth in it, but it had come up in his research when he was looking at ways to fix the damage he and the Legends had done. He’d only gone into it further because he found the story interesting.

The story had turned out to have a lot of disturbing substance to it. There were indications that someone was trying to follow all the steps required to free the demon trapped in the walls of time. A demon of time, who could only be held by the shackles of time itself. He had been imprisoned in the dawn of man, but as with all forces of evil, he had left clues in the weft of existence that would enable his escape. They were just waiting for the right person to listen to the whisperings in their ear.

“Tell me about your wife,” said the clone, breaking Rip from his thoughts.

Rip looked up and wondered where to start.

“Miranda was amazing. She was beautiful and smart, smarter than me, although I was the better marksman,” he smiled a little. “We were at the Academy together, both training to be Time Masters. We weren’t supposed to fall in love, because relationships of any kind were forbidden, but we did. I was drawn to her. She taught me so much about how important it is to love.”

“What happened?” asked the clone.

“She resigned so that I could stay at the Academy and become a Time Master, because she knew how important it was to me. There was no higher calling, I thought. I was wrong though. I should have left with her. At least we’d have been together when Vandal Savage attacked… I tried to save them many times. I recruited the Legends to help me with my mission, but ultimately, we failed.”

His head dropped.

“Do you have a picture of her?” asked the clone.

“Not anymore,” said Rip. “I had a pocket watch with a picture of them inside the case, but I assume that you have it now.”

The clone shook his head.

“Maybe Druce has it,” the clone said, somewhat sadly.

Neither of them really believed that Druce would have kept something that had sentimental value to Rip. He would have thrown it out from spite alone.

“Would Gideon have a picture?” asked the clone.

Rip frowned, that suggested that the clone had access to the ship, which was only possible if…

“You recovered the Waverider?” he asked. “And the Legends?”

“We dealt with the epicentre of the time storm a few weeks ago,” said the clone, sounding just a little self-satisfied.

Rip noted that he hadn’t exactly answered the entire question, but the Waverider had definitely been saved. Perhaps he could get more information out of his clone by asking the right questions.

“Gideon had a hologram message in her databanks. Why didn’t you just ask her?”

“I can’t. She’s been shut down,” said the clone. “She knows you too well.”

“Ah,” said Rip, “of course. Wouldn’t want anyone finding out who you have locked in the basement.”

“You’re corrupted. It would be dangerous to allow you out,” said the clone.

“Is that what Druce told you? I thought I was better at making up my own mind than this,” replied Rip.

“You destroyed the Time Masters, you’ve admitted that,” spat his twin.

“Yes, I did, and you know why now,” said Rip.

“For a woman and a child! Hardly a reason to bring down the organisation that was tasked with defending time itself,” said the clone, angrily.

“No, I did it because the Time Masters used an innocent woman and a child to bring a tyrant to power so that they could subvert the free will of generations of humans, all whilst maintaining the appearance of being neutral saviours of the timeline. I am not the one who was corrupted!” shouted Rip.

“You’re delusional,” said the clone. “You and your Legends have done nothing but damage. You had to be stopped.”

“Really? Ask yourself this: is it the act of a good man to create a clone and remove key parts of his memories? Does that sound like something someone would do in the service of a pure ideal?”

“The ends justify the means,” said the clone.

Rip burst out laughing, without any humour. It was just all so pathetic and backwards.

“Tyrants throughout history have said the same thing,” he retorted. “I’ve been stupid enough to say it myself on occasion, but, no, the ends don’t justify brutality, torture and imprisonment. I don’t know how much of me is really in you, but I hope it’s enough to see that.”

The clone looked at him for a moment, and then shook his head.

“This was a pointless exercise,” said the clone. “I should have realised all I’d get was a litany of lies about the Director.”

“ _You’re_ the Director,” said Rip.

“Co-Director,” replied the clone. “Druce felt it was best to make it official.”

“Of course he did,” said Rip.

Wilbur Bennett had been an Associate Director and a man he had trusted. He mourned his loss again. The clone turned, making towards the door.

“Going so soon? I thought you would want to persuade me of how wrong I am,” said Rip.

“I have no more time for your lies,” said the clone.

“I haven told you anything that wasn’t the truth,” said Rip.

The clone looked back and seemed to hesitate, but then he regained his resolve and the door opened, admitting the Evan who was supposed to be standing guard. The clone left without looking back again.

Rip sat down in the chair and contemplated the information that he’d just learned. Gideon was turned off, which explained a lot about why his doppelganger hadn’t been discovered. He should have asked more about the Legends, because right now he had no idea where they even were. At least they’d been released from the time storm, but he hoped that they hadn’t been drawn into Druce’s web.

Maybe the Legends would realise that the Rip Hunter who was masquerading as the Director of the Time Bureau wasn’t him. Maybe they would be able to restore Gideon and finally get him out of here.

It was a sliver of hope in an otherwise dark future.

***

The clone was always tired. He had thought that discussing his dreams with his original would help, but it had only seemed to make them more vivid which was worse. Now he knew the name of the woman in his dream and the pain had stopped being abstract. He knew that Miranda was doomed to die at the hands of Vandal Savage, a man that Druce, or Bennett as he was now known, had seemed to think could solve the problem of the Thanagarian invasion. But Savage was gone and the clone wondered just what Miranda had died for. Had there been any meaning at all to the death of the woman and her child.

He stopped himself from calling them his “wife” and “son” because that wouldn’t have been true. They weren’t his family. He may have dreams of holding a dark haired woman in his arms, of their lovemaking, but that hadn’t been him. None of it had been him. Druce had cursed him with this personality and everything that went with this miserable life of loss and servitude.

And yet he still felt a duty to humanity to safeguard it. He had no idea whether that was something that had been instilled in his original from such a young age that it was inescapable, or if it was just a quality that he possessed in the same way that he found that he preferred sweet things to savoury or that rum was his favoured spirit. He had a compulsion to protect.

Confusion arose in his mind about the best way to do that. Druce had been his mentor, his original’s mentor, and he had good reasons for everything that he had done. Perhaps the former Time Master was right and Hunter had ruined his plans to save humanity. The clone just wasn’t sure any longer.

With Savage removed from the equation quite effectively by Hunter and the Legends, Druce was left with little choice but to find a new pawn. The clone was still trying to work out who Druce had chosen to manipulate into position this time, but it wasn’t exactly easy to keep an eye on the Director without casting suspicion upon himself. Druce definitely didn’t trust him, and saw him as little more than a convenient lackey. That was disappointing in itself because the clone had hoped to be at his side, helping him to shape the brave new world that would give humanity its shining future.

He wished that he wasn’t so tired all the time. He would be able to think better if he could only get some sleep.

Ava Sharpe had actually voiced concern about his health. It was quite unexpected that she had become rather human in her transformation from the basic model to this new species, of which there were only two. They had both been cloned and then implanted with the memories of someone else. She had become something of an ally, not realising how closely her situation mirrored his own.

The idea of giving her memories had come from Druce. Her predecessors hadn’t lasted terribly long, and it was clear that something was missing from what they needed to create the perfect agent. This model was far surpassing all of their hopes for her. He was a little ashamed, but it was his idea to provide her with parents and a normal childhood in the hopes that it would give her more of a reason to fight, but also a reason for compassion. He hadn’t given that reason to Druce though, as he knew how that trait would be seen. He’d done his best to cut it out of the clone himself, although that had failed quite spectacularly.

He would have to tell Ava one day that she didn’t have the family that he had given her, and he doubted their friendship would survive it. He was a coward for not telling her right away, but he needed her support still. Perhaps this was what his original had meant by saying only tyrants found that “the ends justify the means” was a valid philosophy.

“The Legends are causing trouble again,” said Sharpe, entering his office without knocking.

“That’s only to be expected,” said the clone. “But we may need them later.”

“For what? They’re rampaging through time, doing more harm than good,” said Sharpe.

“I’m aware,” said the clone, looking down at a document on his desk.

“You didn’t answer the question,” said Sharpe.

Finally, he looked up at his fellow clone, although she had no idea that’s what they were.

“There’s more going on here than you know, Ava. The timeline comes first, but the Legends are to be left alone, along with the Waverider. It wasn’t like we were using it anyway. She should be more than a training simulator,” he said, sounding very much like his original.

“They released an entire prison full of people,” said Sharpe. “The temporal disruption was substantial.”

“Clean up the damage as discreetly as possible,” said the clone.

Sharpe leaned on the desk and looked the clone in the eye.

“What aren’t you telling me?” said Sharpe.

She was quite perceptive, and had learned a lot from him.

“Close the door,” said the clone.

Sharpe did as asked, and then looked at him, expectantly.

“The Legends are my backup plan,” said the clone. “I don’t want Director Bennett to know anything about their movements if possible.”

“Backup for what?” asked Sharpe. “Their approach to temporal anachronism resolution is like a bull in a china shop. They’re not even good at what they’re trying to do.”

“Perhaps not, but that may not be their fault entirely. There have been some strange disturbances in the time stream, and that may be affecting them. I also don’t believe that Director Bennett is as dedicated to our cause as we are,” said the clone.

Even saying the words felt dangerous. He’d swept the room for bugs, and was as certain as he could be that no one was listening, but bringing another person into his confidence was a substantial risk.

“You don’t think he wants to protect the timeline?” asked Sharpe.

“No,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I don’t. I think his motivations are much more sinister, but I have no physical proof and I am very concerned that he isn’t taking the threat of Mallus seriously.”

Sharpe raised her eyebrows.

“Well, we haven’t found much in the way of evidence to prove that Mallus exists, I can understand his scepticism there,” said Sharpe. “He’s the Time Master’s temporal bogey man from what you’ve said.”

“I have some leads that should give me what I need, but I have to follow them up,” said the clone. “I may be gone a few days.”

Sharpe frowned.

“You realise that Bennett is supposed to sanction all missions,” said Sharpe.

The clone nodded.

“I am aware of that but I think in this case it will be better to seek forgiveness than ask permission. I need tangible proof that the threat of Mallus is real. It’s the only way that I will get anyone to believe me,” said the clone.

“Where are you going?”

“London 1895, November. There are a number of strange deaths and I think they might be related to a secret society and a lunar eclipse,” said the clone.

“You do realise how that sounds,” said Sharpe, “it’s all pulp mystery nonsense.”

“Yes, I suppose it does, but then so does the Spear of Destiny and we know how that turned out,” replied the clone, with the beginning of a smile.

Sharpe acknowledged his point with an incline of her head.

“Very well, Director Hunter, I’ll run interference for as long as I can, but you’ll have to report in at some point,” said Sharpe.

“By then I should have something to actually report. Otherwise I’ll probably just get a slap on the wrist for going off grid for a couple of days. It’s hard to shake off my old Time Master training at times, you know,” he said, with a self-effacing twitch of his lips.

Ava seemed to give in, so he went to assemble what he needed to blend in with the people of London in 1895.

***

Rip was never sure how much time passed in his prison. There were day and night cycles, which he laboriously kept track of, maintaining a routine as best he could. He couldn’t be sure that the cycles provided by the lights were actually the same as the outside world though, or how long he’d been unconscious for when he was brought to his current cell, or even what date he’d been placed here. It was annoying for a Time Master to be so out of touch with his current frame of reference, but that was probably also part of Druce’s game to wear him down and take his revenge.

He’d expected more torture, but Druce didn’t seem at all inclined to go that route. Rip wondered if that would at least have alleviated the persistent boredom he was faced with. Instead, Druce was just leaving Rip to torture himself with thoughts of what was going on outside the walls he was trapped behind. At least he now had his notebook back and could work on the problem of Mallus again.

There was no sign of the Legends smashing down the door of his prison, so either they hadn’t realised that his clone was in imposter or they were all dead at Druce’s hand. It was fifty fifty on any given day as to which one of those he thought most likely. He’d spent enough time with his clone to know that he was a good copy, and probably would have fooled most people. Miranda would have spotted the differences and Gideon probably would have done too if she’d been given a proper chance to observe the imposter, but really, unless you knew what to look for, it would be hard for anyone to work out what was going on.

Rip was quite surprised to see his doppelganger return for a second visit. Surely he’d got what he came for the first time, but apparently not.

“I need the book back,” said the clone, straight to the point.

“Why? I thought I was corrupted and not worth your time,” said Rip.

“I have been quietly looking into some of your leads,” said the clone. “I found a cluster of murders in London that are reminiscent of a ritual that you described in association with Mallus’ followers and the lunar eclipse.”

Rip was on his feet now, suddenly interested.

“When?”

“1895. I have… concerns.”

“As did I,” replied Rip. “What’s your next move?”

The clone gave a small shake of his head, that he recognised as one of his gestures of resignation.

“I can’t keep following Bennett’s orders and ignoring this threat. He won’t even acknowledge that _it is a threat_. If I go against him then he will probably wipe my mind and start again. He might use you to do that and multiple rapid memory transfers take their toll,” said the clone. “I think I need you to be aware of what I’m about to do and the risks. They’re not just mine to take.”

Rip couldn’t help but be a little surprised.

“Maybe you’re more like me than I thought,” said Rip, contemplatively. “What are Druce’s plans?”

“I don’t know exactly. He’s keeping his cards close to his chest. He has been picking which anachronisms are dealt with and the exact order,” said the clone.

“What about the Legends?” asked Rip.

“They stole the Waverider, which I expect you’re not surprised to hear, and they’ve tapped into the Bureau’s computers to help them monitor the anachronisms,” said the clone. “Gideon let them take the Waverider, which was the unexpected bit.”

Rip frowned.

“She suspects something,” said Rip. “That’s the only explanation.”

“I’ve been on board the ship since then. She barely interacted with me. I get the distinct impression that I’ve been sent to Coventry,” said the clone.

“Perhaps her programming is conflicted about what to do when she thinks something is wrong but doesn’t know what,” said Rip. “She sees me, but I’m not exactly myself.”

“I did turn the Waverider into a training simulator for a few months. She was turned off,” said the clone.

“Yes, she does have good reason to be displeased,” said Rip asked. “You could release me?”

The clone looked at Rip for several seconds before shaking his head.

“No, I need the resources of the Time Bureau to tackle Mallus. If I release you then I’ve burnt my bridges and I can’t return. Druce will spin some lies about why there are two of us and we’ll both be done for. As it is, I will need to erase the video evidence of this visit as I did my last,” said the clone. “I’m sorry, but I will get you out as soon as I can.”

Rip shook his head. His clone’s reasoning was sound. If he released him then Druce would hunt them both down at a time when they had bigger fish to fry.

“I probably shouldn’t trust you,” said Rip. “But if I can’t trust myself, then who can I? You also make a fair point and Mallus is the bigger threat. One problem at a time.”

He went to his bed and reached under the mattress, producing the notebook from its hiding place. It wasn’t much of one. He had to assume at this point that no one had noticed what his reading material had been lately.

“I’ve had some time to study my notes,” said Rip, handing the clone the book again, back through the forcefield. “I’m quite certain that this ritual will enable Mallus to communicate with his followers in this world and issue instructions. They may even provide him with an avatar with which to do that. This would be an opportunity to obtain answers to the many questions that we have, but you also cannot lose sight of the goal. We must stop them from releasing Mallus.”

The clone gave a firm nod.

“I would advise getting the Legends’ help,” said Rip. “You’ll need backup and, for all their chaotic nature, they are good at what they do. I assume you can manipulate their feed into the Bureau’s computers to ensure they meet you there.”

“Of course,” said the clone, looking at the notebook. “They won’t have any idea they didn’t choose their next destination themselves.”

“Good, that should even up the odds a little,” said Rip.

“I’ll be back soon,” said the clone. “Two days at most. I’ll be missed if I’m gone for longer. We can plan your escape then.”

Rip nodded in reply, unconsciously mirroring his twin’s earlier gesture.

“I’ll await your return then,” said Rip. “One last thing. You can’t tell the Legends that you’re not me. You need them to work with you, and that won’t happen if you tell them about all of this.”

He waved a hand between them. The clone hesitated.

“They won’t believe you at the moment. Too much trust has been lost,” Rip added.

“We’re on our own, as always,” the clone replied.

“We are,” said Rip. “But we work best alone.”


	3. Memory

The clone sat in the parlour that he knew so well but also now felt so alien. The dichotomy was something that he didn’t enjoy. He’d never sat in this room drinking whisky and watching… What had he been so intently watching? The memory was out of his grasp, so it was probably something to do with Rip’s family. He recalled working in this room for hours, alone, but he also knew those memories were not really his, no matter how real they seemed. None of this was him, it was all a stolen life that he’d taken and his attempts to make that mean something had gone horribly wrong.

The mission to get information on Mallus was utterly disastrous. He’d called in the Time Bureau, expecting this to be a triumphal moment where he was finally vindicated. He could prove the existence of Mallus and also put a stop to whatever the demon had planned. Instead Damien Darhk had killed multiple agents, and he’d nearly lost his own life too. The Legends had saved the day, coming to his rescue.

He should have listened to his original. He’d told him to work with the Legends and instead he’d shut them out. He was beginning to realise that mistake had cost him the battle, and it might now cost him more if he couldn’t salvage this situation.

“We need to talk,” said Sara, striding into the room with her anger already sparking in her eyes.

“By now you know me better than to expect an apology,” said the clone, looking down.

“Agents are dead because of you!” Sara threw at him.

“They understood the risks of their profession. But we learned so much from the events of last night. Next time…” he said, getting to his feet and trying to make her understand what was at stake.

He desperately needed their help. He couldn’t return to the Time Bureau now that Bennett knew about him going behind his back to root out Mallus. But Sara wouldn’t let him finish.

“There won't be a next time, Rip. You show up out of nowhere practically begging for our help, and then you betray us. You've gone rogue from every organization that you've ever been a part of. 'Cause you don't trust anyone. I don't know how I could have ever trusted you.”

“Sara, I need you with me now more than ever,” he said, using her first name in an effort to remind her of their friendship.

Except it wasn’t his and perhaps that was why he was struggling so much with finding the key to getting her to side with him. He could play the basic notes of their friendship, but the harmonies were missing. The empathy, the warmth of those shared moments remembering lost loved ones and finding their place together. Half of those were gone, taken away from an already flawed instrument by his creator who had considered emotion an unnecessary burden and yet had burdened him with enough to cause him pain.

“Do you remember when you told me you had nothing left to teach me? I guess you had one final lesson,” Sara said, and the light of a time portal flared behind her. “How to be a cold son of a bitch.”

The clone’s eyes widened. He hadn’t believed that the Legends would do this to a man that they had considered to be a teammate. Apparently, they too had become more hardnosed thanks to the Time Bureau’s pursuit of them. The first person to step through the doorway was, of course, the last person that he wanted to see.

“Director Bennett,” said the clone, in clipped tones.

“Director Hunter. You've called in your last chit. I should never have sanctioned last night's mission,” said Bennett, and the clone knew without a shadow of doubt that he had failed this man and exactly what the consequences would be of that.

“But the mission proved that Mallus is real!” he said, in a last-ditch attempt to at least get Ava to bear witness.

“Explain it to the tribunal,” said Bennett, who seemed to revel in the idea of making Rip Hunter stand before a time council again. “In the meantime, you are being detained and suspended from active duty.”

“You can't detain me. I created the Bureau!” he said, with as much indignation as he could muster. Rip Hunter would not have gone quietly, so neither could he, because now he was also protecting those around him from harm.

“Then you of all people should know that no one is exempt from its rules. Agent Sharpe,” said Bennett and turned to go.

“Thank you for notifying us of Director Hunter's whereabouts,” said Sharpe, and the clone felt the pain of betrayal deepen.

“Now the Legends are free to fly the skies?” asked Sara, coldly.

“Affirmative. The Time Bureau has bigger things to worry about than a bunch of idiots,” said Sharpe, equally without emotion.

The agents dragged him back towards the waiting Bureau, visible through the portal. For a moment he pulled away, desperate to warn Sara that not everything was as it seemed, but he couldn’t. If he told her now, either she wouldn’t believe him and he would just make things worse for himself, or she would and Bennett would take the Waverider back, probably killing the Legends in the process.

Instead all he had was an empty warning.

“Mallus is getting stronger, Captain Lance. Last night was only the beginning. There is a war coming. And history needs you to be ready. You and the rest of the Legends.”

Then he was bundled through the portal, and rapidly taken to the cells in the basement of the Time Bureau. He was in a separate area to his original, who was kept away from the main cells. Druce didn’t want anyone to accidentally stumble upon the real Rip Hunter.

“Why am I being detained?” he spat at the agents. They were Druce’s lackeys, so he would get no help from them. “I proved that Mallus is real.”

“That is beside the point,” said Bennett.

“The mission may not have gone as I would have wished, but we have proof now of Mallus’ existence,” the clone ranted. “I should be out there, hunting him down, finding new leads...”

“You disobeyed orders to go chasing shadows,” said Druce, wearing Bennett’s face. “I only sanctioned the raid on the ritual because I hoped that something good might come out of your folly. It seems that I was wrong there. You will be detained here until I can convene a tribunal to properly decide your punishment.”

“If we’d succeeded in taking down Damien Darhk then people would be congratulating me on my success!”

“But you didn’t take him down,” said Bennett. “You didn’t get Darhk and you put Agents’ lives at risk for what? A chance to hear Mallus’ voice? We have more important concerns.”

“We learnt more about Mallus in that one mission than it took me months to find out,” said the clone. “We know what we’re facing now.”

“We’re facing Damien Darhk!” shouted Bennett. “A man that I hadn’t factored into my equations. You may have put my entire plan at risk.”

Bennett stormed out of the room, angrily, leaving the clone in his cell to contemplate his situation. It wasn’t particularly good.

No one was coming to rescue him and these cells were well built. It would take him time to escape, although he would be able to eventually since Druce had been careless enough to place him in one of the older cells. He didn’t have enough time to put any of his plans that he had prepared for this situation, that the original Rip had prepared, into action. At the moment, everyone would be on their guard and he’d never get out of the building.

He needed to bide his time, and hope that all Druce decided to do was alter his memories slightly. Then he would get out of his prison and run as far and as fast as he could. His sense of duty was crumbling rapidly as fear took over.

***

Rip knew that everything had gone wrong when Druce entered the room which contained his cell for the first time since he’d been incarcerated there. He hadn’t been visited by his clone again, and if everything had gone well then he’d have expected to see him after a few days.

“Druce,” said Rip, giving the man his proper name. “Well, isn’t this an unpleasant surprise. I do have reading to do, so perhaps you’d like to book an appointment with my secretary.” He flicked a finger towards the Evan that was his guard, and pointedly went back to reading.

Druce did not look at all amused and he did not move or speak. The door to the room opened again and the two Evans dragged in a struggling clone, somewhat bruised and bleeding from a split lip. The clone shook off the hands that held him and he stood upright. A couple of Druce’s men brought in two large couches and Rip recognised the memory transfer equipment. He knew exactly what was about to happen.

“Ah, so I see your plan didn’t work out,” said Rip. “Your problem is that you don’t want Rip Hunter, you just want someone who looks like him and sounds like him.”

“I’m sorry,” said the clone, “I tried...”

“Shut up!” snapped Druce, towards the clone. “If I didn’t still need you as a figurehead then you’d be dead already. You’re lucky I didn’t decide to go back to the drawing board completely.”

“Lucky?” spat the clone. “How is anything about this lucky? Especially not for him,” he indicated Rip in his cell. “I confirmed the existence of a threat to the timeline, and you’re punishing both of us for doing what you trained us to do.”

“Once a traitor, always a traitor,” said Druce, bitterly.

The clone was brought forwards to the edge of the forcefield, which was dropped to allow him to be shoved into the cell with Rip. For a second the two men just stood looking at each other stiffly, and then Rip turned away from the camera and began speaking in rapid, broken Arabic. He knew that his accent was terrible, he’d mainly learnt from books in order to be able to study the League of Assassins texts in their untranslated originals, but it would do.

“ _Listen to me_ ,” said Rip, “ _there is no way out of this. There are only two of us and twice as many of them, and I know very well what this means for me. It is possible to subvert the machine he is using. You have the knowledge to do it. I will fight him as hard as I can, but you must hold on to the fact that Mallus is the main threat and that Bennett is Druce. You must escape and go to the Legends_.”

“ _But they betrayed me to the Time Bureau and Sara made it very clear that I wasn’t welcome there anymore_ ,” replied the clone in the same language, with a glance back at the work on the machines. They would be done soon.

“ _I wish I had time to ask what happened, but I don’t. You need to prove to the Legends that you’re on their side, and you will also need more firepower than you have to deal with Mallus. You need to find Wallace West_ ,” said Rip.

“ _Kid Flash? Why him?_ ” asked the clone.

“ _Because he is someone they know and respect. He is also currently, in 2018, alone and you won’t damage the timeline too much by borrowing him,_ ” said Rip. “ _So, three things to keep in mind: escape to fight Mallus, Bennett is Druce, and find Wallace West._ ”

“ _What about you?_ ” asked the clone. “ _If you fight it, it will do more damage. You could die._ ”

Rip hesitated before replying. He let out a resigned sigh.

“ _I know, but if I don’t it will be much easier for him to overwrite your memories with mine. We’ve diverged considerably, and you need me to make this as difficult as possible for him so that you can hang on to what I’ve just told you. We can’t let Druce keep control of the Time Bureau. Besides, when have you ever known me not to fight?_ ” he asked, and positively grinned at his copy, although there was a knowing, melancholy edge to it.

The clone smiled back. He definitely knew how hard Rip fought, because he had the memories of it. Rip had shouted and screamed and kicked whenever he had been forced into something that he didn’t want to do. Sometimes the shouting, screaming and kicking had been more metaphorical, but it was no less present.

“Together then,” said the clone.

“Together,” replied Rip, and he placed a hand on his clone’s shoulder briefly.

The Evan turned to Druce, who had been engrossed in programming a machine to do something.

“We’re ready for them.”

Rip exchanged a small nod with his clone. As soon as the forcefield dropped, both men aimed punches at the Evans who approached them with the intention of restraining them. The fight was short lived. The cyborgs were stronger and faster than a human, even the clone with his improved reflexes was no match for them. Rip could hold his own in street brawl, but he wasn’t a trained fighter.

“Druce, you will regret this!” shouted Rip. “You can’t fool them all forever.”

“I have fooled them so far,” replied Druce. “You’re an idiot if you think anyone will ever guess at who I really am. I’m dead, remember.”

The clone and Rip were strapped down in the two couches, and headpieces put in place. Rip just had a chance to meet his clone’s eyes before everything disappeared in a white haze of pain and relived emotion. He would not let the machine just take what it needed this time. He had been weaker the first time Druce had done this to him, and still recovering from the crash of his jumpship. He had long since recovered from those injuries.

He remembered his wife’s face, focusing on her and the smile she had on her face. When that became too much, he transferred his attention to the moment that Jonas first lay in his arms, a newborn. Then he remembered the day that he’d met Gideon and her glowing blue presence. His first ship and how proud he had been. It became too much to focus on anything as his memories were ripped from him and copied.

The machine was damaging him as it worked. He could feel a dampness below his ears and nose, he was bleeding. The settings being used weren’t supposed to be for anything except torture. He was dying and he knew it. He fought for as long as he could, but then he was gone, falling into a dark abyss that he knew it was likely that he wouldn’t awake from.

***

The clone escaped from his cell as soon as he was left alone long enough to activate the secret compartment that contained the controls for the forcefield. After that, it was a simple matter to steal a Time Courier and leave the building. It was imperative that he get out as quickly as he could. Mallus was the biggest threat that the Time Bureau had ever dealt with and he couldn’t sit out the battle in a cell.

There was a weird gap in his memory after the tribunal and all he really remembered was waking up on the floor of his cell with a headache. Director Bennett was not who he said he was, that much he knew, although he was unsure exactly who he was and how he knew that. Perhaps his paranoia was getting the better of him. His intuition told him that it wasn’t paranoia, something else was going on, probably linked to the gap in his memories.

He’d had the idea to find Wally West, Kid Flash, and then to hopefully go back to the Legends. It was sort of a case of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, because he knew the Legends didn’t trust the Time Bureau. Finding Wally involved tracking his iPod, but Rip was nothing if not resourceful. He spent a very good and much needed evening getting very drunk with Wally.

In the morning he awoke with a headache and one clear voice in his head.

“Together,” he said, and he had green eyes and an English accent.

It took him about as long as it took for the hangover to clear for him to realise that he was not who he thought he was. He was not Rip Hunter, but if he wasn’t Rip then who was he? He felt like Rip.

He didn’t have much time to investigate or examine his own nature, so that realisation would have to be dealt with later.

Before he knew it, he was sucked into the fight against Mallus, back at the Time Bureau for a while as an agent, and then on the Waverider once again. Bennett was killed by a very angry gorilla Grod, and perhaps Rip’s reaction to that could have been better schooled, but whoever Bennett was, he hadn’t been someone that Rip was disappointed to see dead.

Ava discovered that she was a clone during their efforts to unlock the totems, despite his attempts to spare her from that knowledge. He supposed it was better that she know. It was at about that point that he realised that he too had to be a clone, probably produced in the same way. He had absolutely no faith that anyone would believe him if he told them that though.

“Druce,” he murmured, and he knew he had it.

Druce had cloned him. The question was why?

Unfortunately, Mallus was freed just as the clone had worked out what was going on, and now he had no ability to do anything about resolving it. Mallus was the greatest threat and the Legends needed more time to find out how to activate the totems.

There was one play left open to him.

He took the time drive from its housing and went to face Mallus.

It felt like a fitting end, one that he deserved.

***

They held a memorial for Rip. It was a formal affair, and attended by almost every agent in the Time Bureau who had survived the fight against Mallus. There was no body for them to bury, but they attached a brass plaque to the wall and acknowledged his sacrifice along with the other agents who had died. Sara said a few words about how he had given his life for their fight against the time demon. Without that breathing space, they would never have had time to work out how to unlock the totems.

The Legends had lost people before but that didn’t make it any easier when it happened. Rip had been the one who brought them together.

Ava was left with the task of clearing out Rip’s desk, something that Sara knew she was not looking forwards to. She would do it because it was her duty and her girlfriend took that kind of thing very seriously. She learned from someone who had also considered duty to be important, and Sara kind of missed him and his exasperated grumblings.

“Do you want a hand?” asked Sara, as she and Ava walked away from the memorial together.

“Yes,” said Ava, “thank you. It’s not like he had a lot of things… I don’t even know what to do with them.”

“Maybe Gideon would like them,” said Sara.

“His ship?” asked Ava.

“Yeah, they were a bit more than just… ship and Captain,” said Sara, with a fond smile. “I’ll ask her.”

Ava frowned but entered Rip’s office, and looked around her. Sara followed behind her. There were a few souvenirs from his missions on his shelves, a bullet from a World War 2 gun, a teapot from Han dynasty China, a collection of interesting knives, some ornaments of various provenance and some pictures of important moments in Time Bureau history. There was one of Rip opening their new building and being presented with the signed treaty that gave the Time Bureau its authority. He had some books on his shelves which Sara remembered seeing on the Waverider. It always struck her as strange that he hadn’t taken the items from the shelves in parlour, almost like he was intending to come back and reclaim the Waverider.

Ava sat down at his desk and began going through the drawers, while Sara found a box to put everything in. When Sara returned with the box, Ava was sat looking at an envelope, the size for small letters, with her name on it.

“What’s that?” asked Sara.

“It was in the top drawer,” said Ava. “It’s got my name on it.”

“I can see that, babe. Maybe you should open it,” said Sara.

Ava looked petrified, but she gingerly picked up the envelope and tore it open. She tipped the contents onto the desk. It was a thumb drive, small and innocuous, with the words “play me” written in black sharpie on one side.

“I guess we should do what it says,” Sara suggested, picking it up.

“What if it’s a computer virus or something?” asked Ava.

“Rip left it for you, I don’t think he’d purposefully give you a computer virus,” said Sara.

Ava turned on Rip’s computer and plugged the drive into the port. A video flickered to life, set to play automatically.

Rip Hunter sat at his desk, and gave a half smile at the camera. Sara could only picture the surprise on her face at the moment. Then Rip began to speak.

“If you’re watching this, then I’m dead. Sorry, that’s something of a cliché but it’s hard to open with anything else,” he looked away for a second, probably gathering his thoughts. “I need to tell you a few things and I also need you to share this with Sara.”

Ava looked up at Sara. Rip waited a moment as if he’d expected Ava to need to pause the video to get Sara or perhaps he was just thinking again.

“I don’t know what happened but I know that Mallus is dangerous… If he isn’t dealt with already, then he should be your top priority. But you see, the thing is, I’m not Rip Hunter. Not the real one.”

“Did he just say…?” asked Ava.

Sara nodded, unable to take her eyes off the video.

“He doesn’t mean that literally, does he?” asked Ava.

Sara just shrugged, and watched Rip continue. She’d heard weirder things.

“I know you’re looking at me now like I’m delusional and I know how this sounds, but I am a clone. I was created in the same factory that you were, Ava, except I was given Rip Hunter’s memories so that I could return to the Time Bureau and take his place. It was never supposed to be like this… Druce… Druce survived the destruction of the Vanishing Point.”

“Did he just say…?” asked Sara.

“Who’s Druce?” asked Ava.

“Evil Time Master, I’ll explain later. I’m trying to watch,” said Sara.

“Druce edited my original’s memories when he downloaded them into me because he wanted a puppet. So, I have no memories of Rip’s family. I remember he had one, but I couldn’t tell you anything about them, and there are more holes like that. I honestly have no idea how much I’m missing at this point because I have no way to check. And I think some of the things Druce took, I think they turned me into a worse person… Not one I was proud to be…” Rip looked down at the desk he sat at, just breathing for a moment. He seemed to gather himself together again. “Anyway, if you need proof, the AVA factory will have records of my production. Druce disguised himself as Wilbur Bennett and used me to take over the Time Bureau. He wanted to bring a new tyrant to power, to replace Vandal Savage. I was never able to find out who that was to be, but I’ve put all the evidence that I collected on this drive. That should at least give you a head start on finding them and stopping them using whatever _advantages_ Druce gave them.”

“What the…?” asked Sara, but there was more.

“Druce messed around with my memories at least twice that I know of, so I can’t be certain of anything. For a while I didn’t even remember that I was a clone… but the machine Druce used, it isn’t perfect and eventually I was able to get some things back. Getting very drunk with Wally helped I think…” Rip looked directly at the screen. “I remember meeting my original. The memory extraction process is… unpleasant, but I think he’s alive. Druce would have kept him around in case he was needed again… I hope. But he took the memory I had of where… All I know is that he deserves to be found. I’m sorry I don’t have more information.”

Rip paused again before he spoke.

“Director Sharpe and Captain Lance, it was a pleasure. I wish you both all the best for your futures. I hope not to see you for a very long time.”

The video stopped.

“Rip’s not dead,” said Sara, incredulously, and with mounting excitement. “He’s not dead!”

“No, just his clone,” said Ava, bitterly.

“Wait, I didn’t mean that like it sounded,” said Sara, quickly, “Rip died to buy us time. Just because he was a clone, it doesn’t devalue the sacrifice. He may not have been the original Rip but he still gave his life to save us. But there’s another Rip out there who is alive and needs us to help him.”

Ava leaned back in the chair.

“Where’s the original then? And when did Bennett or Druce or whatever his name really was make the switch?” asked the new Time Bureau Director.

“I don’t know, but he gave us some clues to follow up,” said Sara. “Typical Rip, even when he isn’t Rip. Someone needs to check out the AVA factory and I need to see if I can work out if Rip had any records about Druce that I can use. Maybe Gideon has something in her databanks that I can use…”

“Okay, I can send Gary to check out the AVA factory,” said Ava, and then shook her head. “Except I can’t because Constantine “borrowed” him to investigate something else. I can’t believe that man is your ex.”

“Hardly,” said Sara. “It was a one-time thing. We were both in kind of a bad place. Actually, John might be able to help. He’s good at finding lost things, but we’ll need something that belonged to Rip. There must be something left on the Waverider…”

“Okay, well, you do that while I go through whatever CloneRip left me on this drive,” said Ava, tiredly. “The AVA factory can wait. I don’t think even Rip would leave a video telling me he’s a clone for a joke.”

Sara shook her head.

“He once told me that he didn’t have a sense of humour,” said Sara. “He was wrong about that. I remember when I told him to go to hell and he said he didn’t have a course plotted for that. It was something like that, anyway. He could be funny when he wanted to be, but he definitely wasn’t a practical joker.”

Sara gave her girlfriend a squeeze on her shoulder and quick kiss on her head. Ava clicked on the first file that wasn’t the video on the drive. There were several, but this one seemed to be the biggest and had been edited most recently.

It was entitled “Monarch”, and it definitely seemed to be Rip’s pick for the most likely target of Druce’s new plan to rule the world.

“What’s Monarch?” Sara asked.

“I don’t know, the future wasn’t my specialist area, and according to this dossier, that’s where they came from, or _will_ come from,” replied Ava.

“They’re a person?”

“It looks that way…” Ava scanned the data. “And I think Rip found evidence that Bennett was helping them come to power. This isn’t good, Sara.”

“Yeah, you can say that again,” said Sara, reading a list of Monarch’s atrocities.

“Bennett purposefully dealt with anachronisms in an order the helped boost Monarch’s power,” said Ava. “This is going to take a lot of analysis and alterations to put right. I’m going to be here a while. You should go find Rip. We’re going to need him.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” said Sara, she had several leads to follow up and a warlock to track down.

Rip Hunter was alive, now they just had to work out where he was.


	4. Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With a tiny guest star appearance by TC Callahan from Night Shift.

Rip tried to sit up in bed and immediately regretted it. His ever-present vertigo kicked in and nausea rolled in his stomach. He rested his head down on the pillow again. Apparently today was not going to be a day when he could manage to read. Colours flashed around the edges of his vision, and it was like he was looking through a broken pane of glass. Some days any movement at all resulted in excruciating migraines and an inability to form a coherent sentence or understand when someone spoke. He’d developed a stutter that meant even on the better days, speech was a challenge. 

His head hurt so much. He had hoped that it would get better given time, but if that was the case, progress was regretfully slow. The constant nausea meant that he could barely keep water down, and he trembled like he was a willow tree in the wind even at rest. The hallucinations were by far the worst thing that his brain decided to inflict upon him. On several occasions he thought he’d seen something, a person, but there had not been anyone really there. The more concerning part was that his symptoms of the memory extraction seemed to be getting worse not better.

Druce had come and gloated briefly before he’d left him to be cared for by the Evans. He’d wondered if he was a hallucination, but the Evans had reacted to him, so apparently not. They had strict instructions not to let him die, in case he was needed again. So far Druce hadn’t returned. Rip could only guess that several weeks had passed now. If he’d had trouble with the passing of time before his, it was ten-fold now, especially as he spent most of his time asleep.

“He won’t even remember you this time,” Druce had calmly informed his prisoner. “I stripped out everything that made him so tiresomely rebellious. I had hoped that I had trained you better, but what I couldn’t train out of you, I have removed from him.”

Rip couldn’t even reply, he’d just blinked pitifully at the blur that was probably the man talking to him.

The Evans had attached a medical cuff at some point whilst he’d been asleep. He must have been quite out of it to not have noticed, but when he awoke he was attached to a machine that monitored his vital signs and provided him with fluids. Druce clearly had access to all the technologies of the Time Masters still and was using it to keep Rip alive. Quite frankly, Rip wished that they hadn’t bothered. Existence felt tiresome, especially on days when even opening his eyes was too much work. He was certain that he was dying, it was really only a matter of time now, and the little that the Evans were doing for him was only delaying the inevitable.

He heard the door to the room open and risked checking to see what the Evan was doing this time. The light was sore on his retinas but possibly a little less painful than it had been earlier.

Instead of an Evan, there was a young woman with dark hair, warm beige skin, Asian features and a trolley. She had to be a hallucination, but Rip had no idea where his mind had dredged her up from. She moved towards the cell, cautiously.

“Hi, my name’s Mona,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring you your tray. For some reason I don’t have this cell on my list. Can you talk? Do you have a name?”

Rip frowned. This was surprisingly lifelike and specific as hallucinations went. He tried to form a word, but got stuck on the first R and gave up with a sigh. He tried again to at least sit up for his imaginary visitor, but the dizziness just left him collapsing back. Today was not a good day.

“It’s okay. I’ll just have to ask Ava, Director Sharpe, for your name. I’ve been collecting a list of favourite foods for all the creatures that we’re keeping here.”

Rip had no idea who Director Sharpe was, but he recognised the name Ava. The clones must still be around. He had lost track of the sentence after that, but he was beginning to wonder if perhaps his mind wasn’t making this up.

“You don’t seem well,” said the woman, Mona, and even Rip could hear the concern in her voice. “I’ll get help.”

Rip squinted at the woman with his fragmented vision and the door opened behind her. One of the Evans entered. He managed a groan in reply but that was all.

“This cell is restricted access,” said the Evan. “How did you gain entry?”

“I have a security pass,” said Mona, holding up her pass. “They’ve been doing some work on the system. Maybe the security clearance has changed. I mean he doesn’t look like he’d be much of a threat.”

Rip had to agree there. He couldn’t even raise his head from the pillow, let alone form any kind of escape plan.

“He is a dangerous time criminal,” said the Evan, which Rip thought might be the most hilarious thing that he’d heard in a while.

“I don’t remember seeing you around here before,” said Mona.

“You should leave now and speak with the Director,” said the Evan, menacingly. “You should not be here.”

Mona held her hands up, and then went back to her trolley.

“Okay, I get it, he's _clearly_ very dangerous, but I’m going to talk to the Director and then we’ll see,” said Mona.

She pulled the trolley out of the room, and the door closed behind her. The Evan didn’t seem at all bothered by the visit. It was probably well beyond the model’s programming to deal with unexpected visitors in a secure facility. His guards were here to make sure that he didn’t break out, not stop people from breaking in. It sounded like a glitch in Druce's security which it was most unlike the Time Master to allow.

It was almost enough to make him laugh, but his situation wasn’t really very funny. Mona would talk to Druce and she’d be told to forget about the man in the cell, or worse, Druce would kill her just for opening the wrong door. That sobered him. She didn’t deserve that. There was also nothing that he could do to help her.

It was becoming clear that their plan to ensure his clone retained important memories hadn’t worked. The clone hadn’t visited again since the memory reset and Rip had no idea what was going on in the outside world. For all he knew, Mallus had been victorious and time would begin crumbling around him at any moment.

Rip lay back on the bed. He just needed to recover a little and be able to think. Maybe then he could finally come up with an escape plan. He hadn’t yet, but it was only a matter of time. He always found a way out. Always.

***

Tracking down John had been surprisingly easy. According to Ava, he was currently staying in an apartment in New York, which had a dubious provenance that Sara was not going to look too closely at, but he turned up at the Time Bureau before she could visit. He’d already been looking for Sara because he was less than pleased at a sudden increase in his workload due to Mallus’ escape letting a group of magical creatures loose too.

She was somewhat surprised by his reaction to the name “Rip Hunter” when she asked him to help her find the former Director of the Time Bureau.

“How the hell could you lose bloody Rip Hunter? He was in charge of this place the last time I was here, helped me out of a tight spot too,” said John. “I wondered why he wasn’t around. Useful guy to know.”

“It’s not that simple. At some point he was replaced with a clone, so for at least the last year he hasn’t been the Rip Hunter that I knew,” said Sara, escorting John into Rip’s old office. “When did you meet him?”

“A couple of years ago,” said John, “but he also suggested that I look into Nora Darhk. He’s kept in touch. Are you telling me that wasn’t really him?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure when the clone took over,” said Sara. “We need to find the real Rip Hunter though.”

John nodded. He looked around himself at shelves on the wall of the room that they were in.

“Anything here belong to him? And I mean _him_ , not the clone,” said John.

Sara also looked at the contents of the office. She needed something that Rip had before the usurper took his life. He hadn’t exactly taken much with him when he left the Waverider and she’d always assumed that he’d intended to come back and get his things. Then she spotted his notebook – the one with all the information on Mallus inside it. He’d worked that problem for years, and she found it hard to believe that he’d been a clone from the start. She grabbed it from the shelf with triumph and handed it to John.

“Will that do?” she asked.

John turned it over in his hands.

“Yeah, I remember this,” said John. “Okay, I can work with this.”

He placed the book on the floor, and pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. Sara watched as he drew a series of strange marks around the book in a circle.

“Turn down the lights. You might want to grab a pen and paper, I’m not sure how long this is going to last. If he hasn’t held that book in a while, it might not be long,” said John.

Sara nodded, and picked up a pad and a pen from the desk. John mumbled something in a language that sounded _old_. She wasn’t sure why she identified that as its defining characteristic, but it felt heavy with deep age and the words seemed to hang in the air like abandoned buildings in the bad part of town. The book began to glow and small patterns of gold light spilled outwards from it. Sara moved a little closer, trying to see if they meant anything but they looked random.

John stopped speaking and there was a rustling sound like papers fluttering in the wind, except it seemed to be coming from the golden fronds. They coalesced into an image of Rip, lying down with his eyes closed, but breathing. Then it split into two images like a poorly aligned printed image and one of the images changed to a different Rip, sitting. The lights re-formed into images of two different places. One seemed confused, shifting patterns into several places that Sara couldn’t recognise, but the other group of lights was definitely Star City, and then the Time Bureau building.

“It’s never done that before,” murmured John, as he observed the spell working. “I’ll have to…”

Then the lights dropped through the floor beneath them and faded.

“That’s here,” said John.

“Yeah, I got that,” said Sara. “Star City, but it’s a big place and why show us our location. That’s not much help, John.”

“No, you’re not getting it. Rip’s here,” said John. “In the Time Bureau.”

“He can’t be,” said Sara. “Your spell is wrong.”

“It’s never been wrong before. I’m telling you, Sara, he’s in this building,” said John, very definite.

Sara didn’t think John had any reason to lie about this, but it seemed strange.

“Okay, but where is he then?” asked Sara. “There are a lot of people in this building and a lot of security. Why haven’t any of them found him? You’d think someone would mention seeing a guy who’s supposed to be dead. He must be being kept prisoner or he’d have come to us.”

John shrugged.

“You know this place better than I do,” said John. “Any hidden rooms or weird technology in use?”

“How should I know?” asked Sara. “Rip and Ava worked here, not me.”

“Then maybe you should get your girlfriend to see what’s what,” said John.

“Fine, let’s go talk to her,” said Sara, already striding towards Ava’s office.

John gave a half shake of his head and followed reluctantly. As they neared the office, Sara could hear Ava having a loud conversation with the new girl, Mona. Sara had only met her a couple of times, but she seemed cross about something.

“Look, I know I wanted this job but you need to do better for the prisoners, and at least give them medical care. He wasn’t even on my list. If I hadn’t wondered who was in the cell, I wouldn’t know he existed…” said Mona.

“Mona, stop!” said Ava, “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I gave you the list of every magical creature we have in the cells. We’re full, which is why we need more cell space.”

“No, there are these creepy guards, they look like twins, and this one guy. He’s sick, and they’re really not friendly,” said Mona.

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about,” said Ava.

“Just check the cameras,” said Mona.

“Fine, give me the cell number,” said Ava, sitting down at her desk to access the prison’s cameras.

Mona nodded.

“It’s cell X18, right at the end of corridor F. It’s out of the way, and usually my card doesn’t open the door, but today the green light was on the card reader and I thought it meant it had a new occupant that I needed to see…”

Ava shook her head.

“We don’t have an X18. Not listed as a cell anyway,” said Ava. “I can pull up corridor F…”

Sara exchanged a look John, confirming that they had both overheard everything and come to a similar conclusion.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” asked John.

Sara dipped her head once and entered the room with John, just as Ava began typing to bring up the footage from the corridor.

“Ava, I think Mona’s on to something. John says that Rip’s still in the building,” said Sara.

“He can’t be, access is strictly controlled…” began Ava, then she stopped, and looked up at Mona. “Oh.”

“Where’s the cell, Mona?” asked Sara.

“Just off the main cell block in the basement, at the end of corridor F,” said Mona, her eyes going wide. “Are you telling me that no one knew he was down there? Who is he then?”

“We think he’s the former head of the Time Bureau,” said Sara. “And a friend of ours. We’re looking for him.”

Ava was frowning as she got to her feet.

“It can’t be him,” said Ava. “That would mean that Bennett was keeping him here, right under our noses all this time.”

“Rip’s good at pissing people off. He has a habit of getting under their skin and making them really angry at him. It wouldn’t surprise me if Bennett kept him here just to rub his face in where he was,” said John. “Come on then, love, lead the way.”

“Wait,” said Ava. “You said there were guards?”

“Yeah, two really weird guys who were identical twins,” said Mona. “One of them told me to leave.”

“Identical twins…” said Ava. “Probably more clones. I wasn’t the only model they made.”

“I think we can handle two guards,” said Sara.

“Okay, but we should still take some guns,” said Ava. “They’ll be strong.”

“This is why I fell in love with you,” replied Sara, with a smile.

It was the work of a few minutes to raid the gun cabinet in Ava’s office. John looked on somewhat bemused and waved off the gun that Sara tried to offer him.

“I don’t do guns,” said John. “They’re only good for killing humans and that’s not what I’m about.”

Sara shrugged at him.

“Whatever. Let’s go and rescue Rip,” she said, and indicated for Mona to show them the way.

Mona looked a little concerned by the entire exchange but then she pulled herself together and indicated that they should follow her. She took them through the Time Bureau and down to the cells in the basement.

“I wouldn’t keep a dog down here, Sharpie,” said John, looking around at the enclosed rooms with no natural light.

“We’re not holding dogs,” said Ava. “That would be a lot easier. This is where we keep the magical creatures that came through when the Legends defeated Mallus.”

“Yeah, even them,” replied John, stalking down the corridor behind Mona.

Sara supposed he did have a point. It wasn’t a nice place to be especially if you were in a cell, but they had to lock the creatures up somewhere. She almost hoped that John was wrong with his divination and Rip wasn’t down here.

“I didn’t even realise there was a cell down here,” said Ava. “I’m pretty sure this used to be a dead end.”

“Walls don’t move,” said Sara.

“No, but we did an overhaul of all the computer systems this week and purged a lot of old codes and programs,” said Ava. “Maybe there was a holo-emitter keeping this hidden. I’ll have to send a team down here to get to the bottom of it.”

They reached the door and Mona put her card in the slot of the card reader. Ava put her hand on the younger woman’s and stopped her from moving the card downwards and opening the door.

“Get behind us,” said Ava. “Those guards could decide to fight back this time.”

Mona looked suitably concerned and quickly scurried back behind Ava, John and Sara. Ava drew her weapon, while Sara pulled out her batons, and John gave a roll of his shoulders, a gesture she now recognised as him preparing for spell casting.

Ava finished the action that Mona had started and pulled the card through the slot, before putting both hands to her gun and edging forwards into the room. The cell was very similar to the others that Sara had seen in the Time Bureau basement. There was a circular cell with a bed, chair and sanitary facilities inside a forcefield. She could see that the bed was occupied, and that there was a staircase to one side with a viewing platform and somewhere for a guard or perhaps two guards to sit behind a glass screen and keep an eye on their prisoner.

The room seemed to be empty apart from the prisoner, who was lying in the bed apparently asleep, and then movement caught her eye. From the shadows of the corners of the room two men appeared, both wearing dark, navy Time Bureau jump suits. They were blond and had sculpted features quite similar to Ava’s. They could have been brother and sister.

Sara was going to go ahead and assume that they were the guards that Mona had mentioned and that Ava had been right when she’d thought they might be clones too.

“You are not authorised to be here,” said the guard.

“I think you’ve got that backwards,” said Sara, “this is the Director of the Time Bureau.”

She indicated Ava, who had her gun drawn and trained on the guard nearest her. The guard looked at her as if she’d said something particularly stupid.

“This is not the Director,” said the guard.

“Director Bennett is dead,” said Ava. “I am the new Director, Director Sharpe.”

The two men looked at each other, their eyes meeting and flashing blue for a moment.

“Execute order 23,” said the first guard.

“What’s order 23?” asked John.

Ava looked baffled, and shrugged, as the first guard pulled a gun and the second one moved towards the cell controls, taking down the forcefield around the cell. The first guard moved toward the cell with the very clear intention to kill whoever was asleep in the bed.

“Kill the prisoner, destroy all evidence of existence,” said the second guard.

“Shit!” said Sara, “Ava, stop him!”

Ava fired and the guard simply dodged the bullet. Sara saw the surprise on Ava’s face but the guard didn’t react. Ava couldn’t do that. Beside her she could hear John incanting something and then a ball of fire sailed past her and hit the guard closest to him. It set light to the guard’s navy blue uniform, but the individual in the uniform wasn’t bothered. Ava barrelled into the other guard, who had been about to kill the prisoner, taking him down with an impressive tackle. That meant the one who was now on fire was Sara’s problem.

She swung her batons and made contact, realising very quickly that this pair were going to be tough. They exchanged blows and blocks for a moment. Sara realised that they moved too quickly to be human. She could keep up, but only just, and only because she’d been trained by the league of assassins. Luckily that training was standing her in good stead. She kicked out and caught her opponent’s legs, swiping a knife from the small of her back and throwing it at the guard’s head as he hit the floor.

The knife hit its mark and sparks flew. The guard didn’t move.

“They’re androids!” she exclaimed.

“Well, that explains a lot,” said John.

Ava was still fighting with her opponent, but she was holding her own. Being a clone did have a few advantages. John was ignoring the fight and heading for the man in the bed. Ava fired her gun three times and the other guard finally took a bullet to the head and went down too.

“What the hell…?” asked Ava, panting with exertion.

“Yeah, I know,” said Sara. “Time Masters and their secrets.”

Mona poked her head around the doorway.

“Is it safe to come in?” she asked.

“Yes, love,” said John, “but we’re going to need medics. Rip’s not in a good way.”

“I’ll call them,” said Mona, and disappeared again.

“Rip? It’s really him?” asked Sara.

“Yeah, it’s him,” said John, kneeling by the bed. “Rip Hunter’s alive.”

***

Rip had been drifting in and out of sleep. The constant headache meant that he never seemed to get proper rest. He made do with what he could get, even though he knew he should try to get up and move more. Every time he tried it ended up with him collapsing back onto the bed. The Evans were very unsympathetic to his plight and he’d given up asking them to help him.

He was brought to full wakefulness by the sound of a gun being fired. At least he thought that was what the bangs were. His hearing distorted sounds at times. Then, someone was calling his name and he knew he needed to break the surface of the dark pool of his tired mind. It felt inviting to stay in the depths, but that wouldn’t answer any of the many questions he was forming in his head.

The voice sounded British. Northern. Like John Constantine, which was a name he hadn’t thought about in a while.

“Rip, mate, can you hear me?” asked the man who sounded like John. “Come on, I know you’re awake. Let me know you’re still in there.”

Rip blinked and frowned. His mind was playing tricks again. It couldn’t be Constantine, except he could smell the stale cigarettes accompanied by the slight whiff of incense and candlewax. He didn’t think his mind could reproduce that quite so accurately.

He stammered and it took three tries to make the word.

“Juh…Juh…John?” he asked, but once he’d said it, he managed it again, “John!”

“Yeah, it’s me,” said the warlock, in a tone that was definitely all business because anything else wouldn’t be part of his image, but there was a reassuring hand placed on his shoulder. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Can’t…” said Rip. “My head…”

That was all he could manage. The rest was somewhere in his brain, but it refused to appear in his speech centres.

“I know, I know,” said John, his accent as thick as Rip had ever heard it, lengthening his “I” into “Ah” and giving everything that Liverpudlian nasal edge. “You look like you’d blow away in strong breeze right now. They’re bringing a gurney down from medical and you’ll be tucked up in a nice hospital bed with the good drugs soon enough.”

Rip blinked again. He managed a small nod.

“Long… how… luh… long?” he asked.

“Are you asking how long you’ve been here?” asked John.

Again, he made the same small nod.

“I wish I knew. I was hoping you could tell us. We know a clone took your place, but we don’t know when it happened. Director Bennett’s dead and so’s the clone, which means you’re safe now,” said John.

Rip frowned, but the inner workings of his mind were like thick syrup. He found himself suddenly and inexplicably plunged into sadness.

“No,” he said. “The… the cloh… cloh… clone. Helped me.”

“Yeah, we know he wasn’t all bad,” said John. “He sacrificed himself to buy Sara and her merry band some time to defeat Mallus.”

Rip wasn’t sure he’d understood that right, but it sounded like the clone had done something heroically stupid to save the Legends. He supposed that _was_ something he would also have done. He and the clone were more alike than they were different perhaps. Pain spiked in his head, and he closed his eyes again with a sharp intake of breath. He wished he had the words to explain to John what was going on, but he didn’t. He couldn’t tell him that he felt constantly sick or that he had a relentless migraine that he’d been dealing with ever since Druce decided to fix his first attempt at cloning him. None of those words were available to him.

He could hear more people arrive, discussions happening around him and he felt vulnerable, afraid.

“Rip,” said John, anchoring him with his voice. “These nice people are going to give you some painkillers, they tell me they’re the good ones and will have you out like a light. Then they’re going to move you upstairs to somewhere they can get you some better care. You okay with that?”

Rip pulled his eyes open enough to make out John’s blond hair, outlined like a halo by the bright light behind him. He almost laughed at that idea, but instead he just nodded, his emotions unbalancing him. He’d really like to be pain free, even just for a moment. He could see other people, Sara and an Ava clone. One of the medics moved forwards and he felt the prick of a needle in his arm.

Ava clones were not good… Clones were not good… Was Druce still exerting his influence? He grabbed John’s hand and made sure the exorcist was looking at him as he desperately tried to explain.

“Ava…” he said, breathlessly, fighting against the effects of the painkillers. “Don’t…”

John was frowning.

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe. You can sleep now, promise,” said John, and the man’s eyes were so sincere that all Rip could do was believe him.

He didn’t have a choice as he was pulled down into unconsciousness by the heavy duty painkillers that someone had been kind enough to give him.

***

John had counted Rip as a friend, even if they hadn’t seen each other in a while. When Rip hadn’t been in touch for a while, John had mostly assumed that he had become caught up in his work, which he was prone to do. It hadn’t really seemed that strange. Equally, he hadn’t been that surprised to get the call about Nora Darhk from him, if it was something that involved the occult then who else would the former Time Master call. And Rip always seemed to know a lot about things that John might be interested in.

The two of them had shared a few adventures, hunting monsters together when Rip crossed his path. He’d been quick on the uptake, always thinking about the next mission and how an investigation fitted together, and John liked working with him, as much as he did with anyone anyway. But now… now Rip was lying in a high-tech hospital bed in the Time Bureau’s medical wing, seriously ill, and all John could do was wait.

The magician leaned in the doorway of his friend’s room, unlit cigarette in his mouth because they wouldn’t let him smoke inside the Time Bureau. The cigarette was just out of habit, but he’d want to step outside to smoke it sooner rather than later, he definitely needed the nicotine in his blood. He tapped a finger on the lighter in his pocket, his nervous energy needing an outlet.

He hated this part of rescue jobs, this time spent standing in the antiseptic cleanliness of a medical establishment either regaling doctors with some made up story to cover up the reality of what happened, or just waiting for whoever it was to wake up and tell him some important bit of information. Sometimes all his waiting got him was hearing a doctor give time of death, but he supposed the worst ones were when whoever he’d tried to save didn’t even make it to the hospital. At least Rip was getting help now.

The former Time Master was pale, thin and unmoving, on the best drugs and probably would be on them a while. His beard was scraggy, unkept and he had sunken cheeks, making him look older than he was. He’d definitely lost weight, to the point of emaciation and even John couldn’t help but worry.

“Do we know how long he was in that cell?” John asked his companion in despondency, who was sat on the chair by the bed, regarding Rip as if he had all the answers that she needed, if only he’d speak.

“Ava’s going through the tapes,” said Sara, “but she said that there’s stuff going back over a year, including the second time they tried to use the memory recording device on him. That was more than two months’ ago, and he’s been too ill to get out of bed since then. The androids weren’t treating him, they were just keeping him alive. That’s all they were programmed to do. They didn’t even give him any pain relief. Ray’s taking them apart, more out of disgust than because he hopes to find anything useful I think.”

John understood that urge. He’d often wanted to destroy something that had hurt someone he cared about too.

“And the man who put him there is dead and didn’t leave any further instructions for his jailers, so they just _carried on_ doing what they’d been told to do,” said John.

“That about sums it up,” confirmed Sara. “He’d have died down there and no one would have even known where he was. If I’d had any idea he was still alive, or that the clone… wasn’t him, I’d have called you sooner.”

“Hindsight’s always twenty twenty, love,” said John. “We just need to get him well again. He’s a pain in the arse, but he’s _our_ pain in the arse.”

“I just can’t believe that we were all so easily fooled,” said Sara. “I can’t imagine Rip dismissing us like that or just sitting there and not having any remorse for those agents that died. I suppose I just thought he’d finally started believing all those ideas the Time Masters had about sacrifice and getting the job done at any cost. I get why he brought us Wally and I think he would always have sacrificed himself in those circumstances, but it felt like we weren’t on the same wavelength anymore. We used to know what the other was thinking.”

“Did you two ever…? You know…,” asked John, with a smirk, and his meaning completely clear.

Sara gave him an exasperated look, as if he should know better.

“No, although maybe if he hadn’t disappeared when he did, I guess we might have moved that way. There was definitely an attraction, but he wasn’t ready. I don’t know if he ever would have been with me,” said Sara. “And I’ve got Ava now. Why?”

John shrugged. “Just wondering who the competition is.”

“So, you two...?”

“No,” said John, a little too quickly to stand alone without qualification. He sighed and explained, “we never got the chance, always too busy saving the world. I kissed him once. We were heading to bed when he got called into the Time Bureau. Something about King John. That was the last time I saw him before he called me about Nora. Maybe that was the last time it was really him and not the clone. He always talked about getting you lot out of the time storm. I thought it seemed strange that he didn’t want to work with you after he managed it.”

Sara nodded. “Yeah, there were a lot of strange things that maybe I would have picked up on if I hadn’t been so intent on proving that Rip needed us.”

“Most people wouldn’t immediately think their mate had been replaced with a clone,” said John. “It’s not exactly even _our_ everyday.”

TC Callahan came down the corridor from one of the other wards, and John stepped aside to let the doctor enter. He went to Rip’s bed to check on his patient’s condition.

“What’s the verdict?” asked Sara, as TC finished up.

“Without my patient’s consent, I can’t tell you everything, but some of it you already know,” said TC. “He’s not well. I’m fairly certain that there’s brain damage from the mind probe, plus complications from being unable to get out of bed for so long. I’m going to be keeping him sedated for a while longer to assist with healing and Gideon’s helping me to formulate a treatment programme.”

None of that was really news. John had been told what had been done to Rip. Druce had needed Rip’s memories to make the clone convincing and that involved forcibly extracting them from his mind. He’d already assumed that the way Rip spoke back in the cell meant that his head wasn’t quite right. The only question he’d really had was whether it was physical or psychological, maybe there was some of both in there, but it sounded like it was an injury.

“Who did he list as his next of kin?” asked John.

“He doesn’t have anyone,” said TC. “He gave the medical staff here the authority to do whatever they thought was necessary to save his life, although I have a page of instructions in his file for some very specific and weird circumstances that I hope I never need. Despite that, he didn’t include anything for having his memories forcibly plucked from his mind.”

“You watched the tapes?” asked Sara.

“Yes, Ava gave me the relevant highlights, and they’re not pleasant viewing. I don’t understand how the machine they used works, but it definitely hurt him and I need to understand how in order to start helping him. He’s been too ill to get up on his own, and because of that he’s been confined to bed for a lot longer than is healthy,” said TC. “I’d call that torture at this point.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Sara.

“We get that he’s sick, doc,” said John, getting tired of hearing how dire the situation was. “but is he going to recover?”

“I don’t know,” said TC, “he’s got a lot of work ahead of him.”

TC turned off the monitor that gave details of Rip’s condition, with a shake of his head.

“There’s no point you hanging around here. I’ll call you when I’m going to bring him out of it,” said TC. “He’ll need some friendly faces then. You should all go and get some sleep in the meantime. It’s been a very long day for all of us.”

Sara nodded in reply, pushing herself out of the chair and stretching her limbs out. John let out a sigh, the doctor was right. Hanging around Rip’s bed wasn’t going to get them anywhere and there were still monsters to be fought. At least the ones that had done this were dead and gone, it was the only good part about it.


	5. Broken

The darkness was shapeless and unresolving. Rip’s mind echoed within its broken confines, finding it hard to pin down even dreams. There were so many memories to work with and supply his imagination, but now they were fractured and had holes in them. It was like trying to put a broken vase back together while missing some of the pieces. He probably could have dealt with finding the separate shards and reassembling them into a whole, but often they were sharp and the pain was constant, even in this oblivion. It was safer to drift rather than probe at the edges of his memory, and it gave him some short respite before his mind wandered into remembering and hurt.

Time moved on, as it always did, even when he wasn’t aware of its passing in the conventional sense. Eventually his cognition did seem to improve, and the pain developed softer edges. It became a faraway ache and he remembered what it was like to live without constant agony. It felt better, but still enclosing.

Sometimes he caught snatches of voices as if they were a very long way away. Sometimes he even managed to identify words. He tried to cling to those moments and use them to move nearer to somewhere lighter, and wider, and more interesting.

Then he saw a shadow pass in front of his vision, which was impossible because his eyes were shut. The shadow had a familiar shape to it. He blinked and realised that his eyes were, in fact, open. He blinked again and the image gained some colour, mainly tans, pinks and whites.

“You in there this time?” asked the shape. “I’m getting kind of tired of talking to myself and having you just blink at me before you pass out again. TC did warn us this might happen, but you always did like to take the most difficult way possible.”

The tone was resigned, as if he wasn’t really expecting an answer and the words were spoken in a Liverpudlian accent with a tinge of North London about it. A voice that he was really glad to hear again and he recognised with appreciation.

“John?” murmured Rip, his voice as brittle as dry bone and as ready to break.

The man in the chair was suddenly animated. The expression on his face changed from slack boredom into alert interest. The man was John Constantine. Rip had a memory of John from before, when he’d been in a dark cell, and things began to fall back into their places in his mind.

“Yeah, mate,” he replied, standing and hitting a button on the wall. “You know my name, so that’s a good start. Do you know where you are?”

Rip frowned and tried to persuade his eyes to focus. He was unbelievably tired, but he was determined to at least work out what was going on. His first assessment was that this was a friendly location, and John’s presence seemed to confirm that, along with the light from the sun that streamed in through the window and the comfortable bed. He was half sat, half reclining and there were soft pillows behind his aching head. He wasn’t in the cell in the Time Bureau’s basement anymore.

He raised an arm a little, which felt as heavy as lead and trailed a tube from a medical cuff that wrapped around his wrist. That suggested somewhere with a high level of medical technology, but this wasn’t the Waverider. He’d have felt the thrum of the engines or Gideon would have greeted him. That really only left one other location.

“Time Bureau, medical wing,” he said, which was an effort and he swallowed hard. “Can I have... water?”

He went to raise his arm again and realised that he was bandaged in areas where he’d developed pressure sores from lying down so long. He remembered finding it hard to get into any comfortable position, and the trouble that had caused him when he wanted to sleep. Lying in bed for so long had left him weak and he knew that it hadn’t been good for his body.

“Oh, right, yeah,” said John, reaching for a jug and glass. “And you got it in one. Quite the place you put together here. I called the doc, he’ll be here in a moment. We’ve all been waiting for you to open those pretty green eyes of yours. Well, open them and actually speak rather than falling asleep again.”

John held the glass to his friend’s lips, and Rip tried not to feel foolish that he couldn’t even raise a hand to help. He sipped the water for a moment, pulled back when he’d had enough, which wasn’t much, as his stomach already seemed unhappy. Then what John had said caught up with him.

“How long…?”

“You asked me that before,” said John. “As near as we can tell, you were replaced by a clone just over a year and half ago, not long before the time storm spat the Legends out in LA. A few months ago Bennett, or Druce, or whatever his real name was, decided to have another crack at reprogramming the clone and that’s when he used that nasty piece of technology on you for the second time. About a week ago Sara called me up ranting about how you’d been replaced by a clone who’d gone and topped himself, leaving us with no idea where the real you was. I did my usual stuff and we tracked you down with a little help from Mona. We dealt with the Roy Batty twins, got you out of the basement and you’ve been here since.”

Rip blinked again. That was a lot to take in. He just stared at John for a moment and then a slight smiled played across his lips and sigh of relief. He’d been rescued. Druce was dead and he was free.

“Thank you,” he said, meeting John’s eyes. “I thought I was going to… I didn’t think I’d ever be found.”

He shook his head to try to dispel that unpleasant thought, and then realised that his headache worsened considerably with movement.

“Well, I knew you weren’t dead,” said John, “because let’s face it, you always have about six plans up your sleeve, and even when you don’t, you’re the only other bastard in existence who’s as sneaky as I am.”

“Didn’t this time. No plans. And my clone is dead,” said Rip, his voice creaking from emotion. “He was me, I suppose.”

“Ah, I’ve got some news for you on that front. I was a bit premature in my assessment there. He isn’t dead either. He might have done his best to kill himself, but it didn’t take. When I did my scrying spell to find you, it picked up two life lines. He’s out there somewhere, although I’m not quite sure where…” said John, thoughtfully. “I need to work out a new spell for that, otherwise I’ll just keep finding you.”

“I heard voices,” said TC entering the room. “It’s about time you joined us again, Rip.”

“Dr Callahan,” said Rip, immediately recognising the man he had recruited all those many months ago. “Here to tell me…” he frowned at the lack of words available to him, and tried again, “here to tell me the bad news.”

He realised that he was close to needing to fall asleep again and really it was only talking that was keeping him awake.

“It’s not all bad news. The full details will keep,” said TC. “I know you’re a bit confused, but that’s to be expected after everything that you’ve been through.”

Rip blinked heavily.

“I’m aware of what the device Druce used does when operated without care,” said Rip, surprising himself by how easily the sentence came to him after struggling with a much simpler one.

“Then you know that you have a brain injury that may take some time to heal,” said TC. “Gideon’s helping me to treat you, so we have a plan worked out. Right now, you need to rest, and once you’re up to it, we will get you out of bed and moving.”

Rip let out a half laugh at that.

“May… be a while,” he said, half drifting off, mid-sentence as his eyes fell shut of their own accord.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” said TC. “I don’t let my patients get bedsores like your previous carers did.”

TC definitely didn’t sound like he rated his android jailers as appropriate medical professionals to meet a patient’s needs. Rip blinked his eyes open again, to see if the expression matched the tone. He was just in time to see Sara and an Ava clone enter the room.

“I heard Rip was awake,” said Sara, seemingly unperturbed by the clone at her side.

“No, she’s an…an Ava…” said Rip, beginning to stammer again. “A cloh... a clone! Druce… Druce controls her!”

Sara and the Ava looked utterly shocked and Rip’s monitor began to beep loudly in alarm as his pulse and heartbeat headed into the stratosphere.

“Out!” said TC, without a moment’s hesitation. “Go on, you’re upsetting my patient. We’ll sort this out later.”

“Doctor…” began the Ava.

“Out!” said TC, putting himself between Rip and the Ava clone, which Rip would bet was done deliberately so that he couldn’t see the object of his agitation.

John was on his feet again and saying the usual meaningless platitudes that one did in circumstances like this, but Rip was too worked up to listen. He wanted to defend himself and his instinct was to fight, but he wasn’t strong enough to even leave the bed, despite the adrenaline flooding his system. Worse than that, he wasn’t strong enough to even raise his arms more than an inch from the mattress.

“It’s okay, Rip, you’re okay,” said John, a hand on Rip’s shoulder. “She’s not your enemy.”

Sara and the Ava left the room but Rip didn’t feel a lot safer.

“I don’t understand,” he managed, tiredly.

“She’s different. She’s not like the other clones,” said John. “The other you, he gave her fake memories.”

“He did what?” asked Rip, with alarm.

“I don’t know the ins and outs. All I know is that she’s one of good guys. She developed a personality of her own and she, well, Sara and Ava are dating.”

Rip’s pulse began to slow a little, possibly because dating was mundane compared to the idea of more clones at the Time Bureau.

“Dating?”

“Yeah, I know, I’d never have put the two of them together either, but there’s no accounting for taste,” said John.

“John, Rip needs to rest,” said TC. “This is more than he can deal with right now.”

John nodded and backed away.

“Okay, I know when I’m not wanted. We’ll keep Ava away from you for now,” said John. “Sleep well and I’ll be back later.”

John headed out of the room, as Rip found the scene around him becoming faded and blurry. He closed his eyes again and passed out.

***

“He doesn’t know you,” said Sara, trying to do something about the dark look on her girlfriend’s features.

“No, that’s obvious,” said Ava.

The two women were stood in the corridor outside Rip’s hospital room. He’d been given a room of his own as he was still listed as critical and required intensive care. He’d been asleep for a week now and in and out of consciousness for the last twenty-four hours, mostly only for short periods. This was the longest he’d been awake since he’d been found.

“It just hadn’t occurred to me that the real Rip had never met you,” said Sara, cursing herself for not working out how Rip would probably react to the sight of another clone.

“It’s not helped by the fact that my memories are distorted,” said Ava. “I remember being part of the Time Bureau for a lot longer than a year and half. And I can’t even be angry at him, because it turns out that we’re both victims.”

“Survivors,” said Sara, sternly. “Not victims. None of this is your fault, or his, and you’re making the most of what you have. The other Rip, he told me that clones weren’t supposed to fall in love and look at us. I am so in love with you.”

Ava smiled just a little, and Sara felt a warmth in her chest. She really did love this woman with all her heart.

“The feeling is mutual, babe,” Ava replied, looked up and then back at Sara. “It’s just hard to work out how to deal with this. I’m the Director of the Time Bureau. I’m supposed to be professional and know how to handle weird situations.”

“I think this one is just too close to home,” said Sara.

There were so many emotions tied up with the discovery that Ava was a clone and hadn’t even realised it. Her girlfriend was still processing all of them, so it was natural that she’d be a little shaken by Rip’s reaction to her which would have brought all of her perceived inadequacies to the surface again.

“But we’ll deal with it, together,” said Sara, putting a hand on her girlfriend’s arm.

“I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” said Ava.

She sighed and gave a sad shake of her head, but straightened up as John emerged from Rip’s room.

“He’s asleep again,” said John. “I don’t think we’re getting the full story for a while. I told him that Ava’s one of the good guys, but who knows if he’ll remember. That machine did a number on him.”

“Yes, which is a problem,” said Sara, “because I suspect the only one who can help us work out what Druce was planning is Rip.”

“At least the bastard can’t do anymore damage,” said John.

“I’m not so sure,” said Ava. “Whatever plan he put into motion is still happening, and we’re playing catch-up. The other Rip left a lot of notes, but it’s like his stuff on Mallus: it all needs to be followed up and we need to work out whether some of it is even relevant. He was in the process of doing that when he sacrificed himself.”

“Yeah, no one’s as good at research as Rip is... was... is,” said Sara, correcting herself and then wondering if that was even a correction. It had been the clone who had done the research but he was still Rip, sort of.

John scuffed a foot on the floor in a slightly guilty manner.

“What?” asked Sara. “I know that look. What aren’t you telling us?”

“The clone, he might not be as dead as you think,” said John. “You remember how the spell split in two? That’s because there were two linked life lines for it to find. One was a lot closer than the other so it locked onto him.”

“Yeah,” said Sara. “You said it was strange. Can we do the spell again? Find him?”

“Not like we did before. It’ll just keep finding the real Rip,” said John. “I need to rework the spell, or find a new one.”

“Okay, well you do that,” said Ava. “Then I can be angry at the right person. Meanwhile, I need the Legends on following up the leads on Monarch.”

“Right,” said Sara. “That sounds like our kind of mission. Zari has a few ideas on where we should start but the sooner Rip can give us some pointers the better.”

“Agreed,” said Ava.

“I can hang around, talk to him when he’s awake again,” said John. “I’ve got some books with me so I can start on my research while I wait. I just need to grab a few things from the apartment.”

“We have a plan then,” said Sara.

With that they separated to attend to their various tasks.

***

Rip developed a fever later the same day that he’d opened his eyes, and TC struggled to get it under control due to his patient's already weakened condition. The hopes he’d had for staying awake longer vanished rapidly as he burned and then shivered his way through what TC told him was an infection of a wound on his left hip, caused by being laid on his side for too long in captivity, a pressure sore. That was the only bit of real information he managed to glean because his mind refused to focus and stay present. His head still pounded when he was between painkiller doses, and the vertigo returned, meaning that every movement made him nauseous.

Eventually TC managed to combat the infection so that the fever began to subside, but Rip spent the next few days drifting in and out of conversations without taking much in about the world around him and feeling rotten. Usually he awoke to John, apparently talking to himself, or possibly to Rip in the hopes that he might join in, Rip wasn’t terribly sure. He always came in halfway through whatever was being said and had to try to work out what the non-sequitur was about.

“Maybe that will work. I mean, it didn’t the first time, but conditions were different and I was less experienced than the accomplished warlock you see before you now,” said John. “Worth putting on the list anyway.”

“What list?” asked Rip.

“Back are we? Look there’s no point me telling you anything, you’ll have forgotten it by the time you come around again,” said John.

“Did I ask you this before?” asked Rip.

“Yes, and the last two times,” said John. “Not to worry, TC says this is all just the fever, and your brain healing and rewriting itself around the damaged areas. It’ll take a bit of time, but Gideon seems to think you’ll be right as rain when she’s done. What do you remember?”

“Waking up here… the Time Bureau?” he asked.

“Yes, correct, you’re in the medical wing,” said John.

Rip tried to remember anything else. There was something important that he needed John to know.

“There was an Ava… What happened to Druce?” he asked.

“Druce is dead. Your clone left us a message explaining some of what had happened,” said John. “And that particular Ava is one of ours.”

Rip blinked again and moments later he was asleep, without any kind of transition from one state to the other. The next monologue that he awoke to was somewhat more concerning.

“How the hell am I supposed to get hold of a demon’s finger bone? Blood of a damned man, that I can manage, just open a vein and pour it out, but demons are a bit harder to come by,” said John.

“You’re not,” said Rip, not even opening his eyes. “Too dangerous.”

And then he was gone again, asleep again before he could even really work out what was going on. It was like watching a film by fast forwarding between scenes. He could often hear things before he awoke fully, and then perhaps his subconscious informed his conscious that something was going on that needed his attention.

“My Sumerian is shit. I’ve got no idea how I pronounce half of this stuff. It’s a shame that Sharpie vetoed my trip back to ancient Babylon, not that I’d know when to go back to. That’s more your line of business than mine,” said John, and there was the sound of a page being turned.

“2000 BC, roughly,” said Rip, blinking up at the ceiling, in a voice that sounded like he’d been gargling with sand. “You’d probably be… well, the temporal sickness would be nasty.”

John and time travel did not mix well in Rip’s experience, but then he hadn’t done much of it before he’d met Rip.

“Thank you for reminding me. I’ll have you know that I’m practically a seasoned traveller these days. Also that time-watch-thing that you invented, a much smoother ride than your ship,” said John.

“But with less range,” replied Rip, frowning at John. “Don’t tell Gideon you feel like that about the Waverider. How do you even know about her?”

“I’ve been hanging about with your Legends,” said John, “and a bit around the Time Bureau. Mallus left a few loose ends that needed tidying up and Neron’s up to his tricks again. I was about to head down to New Orleans to deal with a situation when Sara called to tell me that you were missing, presumed alive. I ended up passing that one off to Zatanna.”

Rip’s eyes fell shut again, and as he fell asleep again, he heard John speak.

“Hey, that was an improvement, I got more than two sentences out of you that time,” he said, but Rip was too tired to reply. Then he was asleep once more.

“Ava’s not sure whether to be angry at you or to hug you, I guess. It’s weird to think that all this time we thought we were talking to you and we weren’t. I wish we’d worked it out. I wish I’d realised that he wasn’t you. I was so set on proving we deserved to keep the Waverider and keep fixing the timeline…”

That was Sara. She sounded sad, or perhaps guilty.

“You do,” said Rip, sleepily, “it was always my plan to include you. I just had to get you home first.”

“You’re awake,” said Sara with surprise, “how much of that did you hear?”

“Apparently Ava might want to hug me,” said Rip. “I’m sorry that I reacted badly to her.”

“It’s understandable given what you went through. She’ll get over it, and you’re not exactly at your best right now,” said Sara. “She’s a bit touchy about the whole clone thing.”

“The feeling is mutual, and quite frankly she has every right given what the clone did to her,” said Rip. “I’ll make amends… somehow.”

He closed his eyes and was gone again.

“If I start burning stuff in here then I think TC will have me thrown out of the building, but I could do with somewhere to test this out,” said John. “I doubt you’d even notice. You’re certainly taking your time with coming back to the land of the living, and that’s for sure.”

“Try having your memories extracted and see how _you_ do,” murmured Rip, which he’d meant to only think and instead was alarmed to realise that he’d spoken.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re allowed to lie around, but it’s been two weeks now,” said John. “And I’ve been coming here and listening to your pithy one liners for the last five days.”

“Two weeks? It’s been that long?” asked Rip, his eyes springing open as he attempted to push himself up from the bed and failed.

John caught him as his muscles gave up, becoming nerveless and shaking, and he collapsed backwards onto the bed, guided down by John.

“There must be more brain damage than we thought. That wasn’t a suggestion that you should start doing something stupid, like moving,” said John.

Rip frowned. “Things are that bad?”

“You’re recovering, but it’s going to take a while,” said John.

“I’m no stranger to injury,” said Rip.

“I know, but this is… different,” said John. “Your technology can’t just patch you up and get you out there again this time. Anyway, this is good, you’re normally falling asleep again at this point.”

“I do remember most of our conversations, even if they were short,” said Rip. “Can you call TC for me? I think I need him to explain a few things.”

John nodded and pressed the call button, and the doctor appeared a few moments later.

“You’re awake and talking,” said TC, with a smile. “This is a good sign.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Rip, although his voice sounded weak even to his own ears, “but I need to understand what I have to look ahead to.”

“Do you want me to leave?” asked John.

“You can stay,” said Rip. “I just want the prognosis.”

TC nodded, and pulled up Rip’s vital stats on the monitor.

“The good news is that your fever is definitely going down. Gideon’s helped me to understand exactly what the machine that was used on you did and how it worked. The device left you with lesions throughout your brain, given time and help, they will heal but as you know, they’re painful and are the cause of the constant headache you’ve been living with. I’ve been pumping you full of various drugs to bring down the inflammation and swelling so that you can heal, plus painkillers and tissue regeneration stimulants, synthesised using instructions provided by Gideon,” said TC, with a shake of his head, and moved on swiftly. “But I don’t want you to be on any of those things for too long because we’re already putting more strain on your kidneys than I would like. It’s always a balancing act.”

Rip nodded, while John looked a little bored. He knew that the warlock was pretending, because he was definitely smart enough to understand what TC was telling him. Rip thought it was more about distancing himself from it and giving Rip a little space.

“I understand. Why am I so tired? It wasn’t like this before.” Rip remembered sleeping a lot but not so much that he couldn’t even hold a conversation. The drifting off mid-conversation was tiresome to say the least.

“It’s partly the fact that the fever took a lot out of you, partly the drugs, and partly because we’re stimulating your cells to heal, which takes a lot of energy. You’re going to be tired for a while, but it’ll get better as we step down the drugs. The next priority is to get you out of this bed and begin physio to rebuild your muscles,” said TC. “You had a serious collection of pressure sores, and you’re lucky that only one of them got infected. I thought I’d caught them in time but it was probably brewing for a while.”

Rip had worked out what the dressings and bandages were for on various parts of his body, but he didn’t particularly enjoy hearing the full details of what spending more than a year in captivity had done to him. At least before the second use of the machine he’d been able to exercise and eat properly, afterwards, he’d been too ill to move.

“Rip? Are you drifting off again?” asked John, and he realised that he’d been silent for longer than he should have been while he’d thought things through.

“No, I’m definitely feeling a bit better today,” said Rip, and he looked at TC. “How long will it be before I can leave the medical wing?”

Rip knew very well that TC disliked that question, under any circumstances, because whilst medicine was a science every human was an individual and they recovered at different rates. This time, the way he shook his head and looked down said everything Rip needed to know.

“I don’t know, but we’re talking weeks not days. Even with Gideon’s help, and the technology this place has, we can’t push your body too hard without making things worse. You also need to rebuild your muscles and learn to walk again,” said TC. “You’ll get there. You did the hard part when you survived long enough to be rescued.”

“Weeks?” asked Rip, miserably. “Really?”

“Definitely and that’s if there aren’t any further setbacks,” said TC. “We’ll start physio as soon as we think you’re up to it.”

“Of course,” murmured Rip. “Can I have a moment alone, please?”

TC nodded. “Use the call button if you need anything.”

John didn’t move and Rip looked at him in a pointed manner.

“It’s hard to be alone if you’re here,” said Rip, with annoyance. “Is it too much to ask for a moment of peace to myself after hearing my rather depressing immediate future?”

“I’m not leaving you to disappear into your head after that conversation, so no self-pity from you,” said John, still not moving. “Like the doctor said, you survived. The rest is just putting in the work.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who keeps falling asleep, was running a fever for the last five days, can’t even lift his arms more than ten centimetres off the bed and has weeks of physio ahead of him,” said Rip, crossly. “Or the one who spent over a year trapped in a cell without any idea of what was going on in the real world. Not to mention being tortured at random intervals by a power-hungry psychopath who I used to regard as my mentor!”

John just looked at Rip for a moment. He inclined his head to one side in a gesture of acknowledgement, and then he shrugged.

“Yeah, you have a point, but look at it like this: that’s in the past. You being in that bed, the weakness and pain, it’s all temporary, and we don’t need you up and about right this moment, so you can take the time to heal.”

“That’s just as well because apparently I’m not going anywhere for a while,” said Rip, “and maybe there’s no point in even trying. I’ll just be back here again the next time I try to stop some madman from taking over the world. I am tired of it all, and I would like to have just _one year_ when I don’t end up losing someone I love, my own mind, my health, or all three.”

John waited for Rip to finish ranting.

“If you want someone to feel sorry for you then you’ve come to the wrong bloke. We’ve both sacrificed more than we care to admit for our jobs. I’ve thought about leaving it all behind a hundred times, but I’m not built for a normal life and neither are you, and you know that,” said John, leaning forwards in his chair, tie at half-mast as it always was.

“I’m not asking for anyone to feel sorry for me,” replied Rip, tersely, “or even a normal life. I knew when I became a Time Master that was never on the cards. I had hoped that perhaps things might get easier after I set up the Time Bureau, but even a Time Master cannot escape his past.”

“It’s always the way, but at least you’ve got backup now. And while you’ve been sleeping, your Time Bureau has been doing its best to unravel Druce’s schemes,” said John.

“Druce’s schemes? What are you talking about?” asked Rip. “You told me he was dead.”

“He is dead, but that doesn’t mean his plan died with him. Your doppelganger put together a file on all of the possible things that your man Druce was up to. It turns out that top of the list of evil schemes was bringing some guy called “Monarch” to power,” said John.

“Monarch?” asked Rip, suddenly very interested and concerned in equal measure. “Did you say Monarch?”

“Yes, why? Do you know something?”

“About Monarch? Yes, he’s a tyrant from your future, somewhere at the start of the 25th century. Another in the same mould as Adolf Hitler, Per Degaton and Vandal Savage. He’s possibly worse given that he has a suit of armour which has some rather powerful technology built into it and I could never discover the origins of it. I had some theories in that regard, but the Time Masters would never allow me to pursue them. Druce’s involvement in this makes me wonder if that was why.”

“See, I had a feeling you’d know something,” said John.

“Can you get me the clone’s notes? I assume he left notes…”

“Oh he left notes, and files and pictures. Just like you would have,” said John, with a slight smirk. “I’m certain that I can make sure you get copies, although I might have to sneak them past TC. Not sure how he’ll feel about you working, but somehow I thought that might perk you up.”

“Did you just play me?” asked Rip, accusingly. “You _knew_ this would interest me.”

“Like a fiddle,” said John, “but you’re hooked now, aren’t you?”

Rip sighed and sank back into his pillows, deciding to ignore John’s mixed metaphors in favour of considering the information that he’d just been given.

“I suppose I am. Something else that we have in common: neither of us can leave a puzzle alone,” said Rip.

“Yeah, it’s a bad habit we have,” said John, “one of my many and varied addictions. Speaking of which, I’m desperate for a ciggy so you’re going to get your moment alone after all, just don’t spend it brooding.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you’ve never done that,” said Rip, sarcastically. “Besides, I’m still too tired for proper brooding, I think.”

“Good,” said John, getting to his feet, and pulling out his pack of cigarettes and lighter. “No brooding until we can do it over your good whiskey in the parlour of the Waverider.”

He grabbed his coat and made for the door, and Rip suddenly felt that there was something he should say.

“John,” he said, and then faltered, pausing a little too long.

“Yeah,” said John, already pulling out a cigarette and tapping it on the pack.

“Thank you… for being here,” said Rip.

John gave Rip a slightly amused look at the halting words.

“You’ve earned a certain extra level of service,” said John, with a dirty grin, and then he was gone.

Rip thought back to the aftermath of a particularly difficult mission to deal with an ancient Cretan cursed statue of the goddess Potnia that had found its way into the Metropolitan Museum of Art as part of an exhibition of Cretan artifacts. It wasn’t the first time that they’d worked together, but it was the first time he’d caught up with John for a while. Things at the Time Bureau hadn’t been going exactly smoothly, but he’d been doing his best to find the Legends and set the world to rights. It was a job that took all his time and left very little room for a private life.

John had been thrown clear across the room at one point in the encounter and Rip had feared for his friend, but John had just picked himself up from the ground and continued chanting. Rip hadn’t come out of it unscathed either, but John was the one who had taken a vase to the shoulder, cracking into shards with sharp edges that tore into his skin. The vase had been aimed at Rip, and John had pushed him out of the way when he’d seen it coming. He hadn’t been quite fast enough to avoid the impact himself.

When they were all done, Rip had helped John back to his apartment and tended to cleaning his wounds, whilst chastising him for the recklessness he’d displayed. Rip had been faced with the bare skin of John’s exposed back, and somehow the taking care of dressing the injury had become touching of a rather different kind. Rip had traced John’s tattoos and heard the story of each one, because they all had a story. And John had covered Rip’s hand with his and the gesture was so intimate that it had utterly floored the former Time Master. The kiss that followed had been electric, and the one after that had been desperate and passionate. He wondered how lonely they had both been to let it lead so easily to such ardour, but a kiss was as far as they got. The Time Bureau had called and he had been needed.

He'd expected to return and had promised John that he’d call. He had never managed to find a good moment, and perhaps he’d felt a little guilty about that. But then he’d been captured, locked in a cell and replaced, so maybe John would accept that as an excuse for why he hadn’t managed to find the time. He wondered if his clone had though. Something else he would have to ask.

***

Sara knocked on the doorframe before she entered, knowing that she wasn’t going to enjoy this particular visit. It must have been a miserable existence, being trapped in a cell in the basement of the Time Bureau for over a year, but she needed to know what had happened and how. Rip was sat up in bed, looking at a jigsaw puzzle set out on a tray. It had large pieces and was barely half done.

“Hi,” she said.

“Here to debrief me, Miss Lance?” he asked, glancing up and then back at the task before him.

“More of an informal chat, but I do need to know what happened,” said Sara, sitting down in the chair beside the bed.

Rip held a jigsaw piece in his hand and placed it very slowly, with exceptional care, into a slot. Then he picked up the next one and shook his head, obviously having trouble with where the piece fitted.

“This should be easy. I believe the box says that it is suitable for ages 5 to 8 years. Instead, I have yet to manage to complete a puzzle in less than half an hour,” said Rip.

“TC said you’re improving,” said Sara. “You’re making sense and awake for longer periods.”

“Yes, and this exercise is supposed to help gauge my improvement, whilst allowing me to practice my fine motor control,” said Rip, finally placing the piece he was holding. “It’s just all very… frustrating.”

“Give it time,” said Sara.

“Everyone keeps telling me that,” said Rip, finally giving Sara his complete attention. “What do you want to know?”

“All of it,” said Sara. “From the beginning. Druce had a plan, and we need to know what he was trying to do.”

“I have some theories on that, given my conversation with John,” said Rip. “Druce wanted control of the Time Bureau so that he could bring another tyrant to power. So, he decided that the way to do that was to capture me, possibly he was also looking for revenge, or maybe he just regarded that as serendipity. In any case, I was on my way to attempt a navigation of the time storm that the Waverider was trapped within when the jumpship was shot down. He took me to the AVA cloning complex where he healed my wounds, extracted my DNA and created the clone. He then copied my memories using a modified version of the Cognitive Intrusion machine and created a slightly edited copy of me. He killed Deputy Director Bennett, a man I had come to consider a friend and skilled protector of the timeline…”

Rip stopped for a moment, finding emotion in the retelling where there had been none before. He blinked and took a deep breath.

“Wait, we weren’t trapped. It was only a few minutes between you leaving and us crashing,” said Sara.

“It may have seemed like a few minutes to you, but in fact it was several months of subjective time,” said Rip. “If I had been able to reach you then I might have managed to mitigate the temporal warping that occurred by giving Gideon a new navigation program that I had devised. As it was, I never got the chance.”

“So, the man we met after the crash was the clone?” said Sara.

“Yes, and I think he had been for several months by then. The two Evans that guarded me were androids, as I believe you discovered, and I had very little contact with anyone except them. Druce occasionally came to visit and latterly the clone also. Druce had removed his memories of my family, but he still saw them in his dreams… he had questions,” said Rip. “It was a brave act of rebellion on his part to hunt down Mallus in London. Druce had done his best to remove the parts of my personality that made me so _troublesome_ to him, but he underestimated how deeply ingrained my curiosity was. The clone found my notebook of research on Mallus and he wanted to help. I told him to go to you,” said Rip. “Alas it seems that I had miscalculated how much you disliked me for my part in the Time Bureau and their dismissal of you.”

“If I’d known what was going to happen to him then I would never have let the Time Bureau take him,” said Sara. “I just thought he’d get a demotion or something. It didn’t ever occur to me that they’d throw him in jail.”

“Under normal circumstances you would probably have been right, but this was not business as usual. The clone was still mostly loyal to Druce when he met you in London, although that changed. We discussed breaking me out but we needed the Time Bureau on our side to combat Mallus, and there was the issue that we couldn’t alert Druce to the fact that the clone was no longer working for him. It seemed unlikely that you would believe the story that he was a clone, given the way that he had betrayed your trust by dismissing you all, so we thought it better not to lose the small amount of loyalty you had to him. We miscalculated. We didn’t think the clone would be caught or that Druce would be so quick to wipe his memory again. Even so, we thought we had a plan for that, but we weren’t strong enough to fight the Cognitive Intrusion. Druce was all too pleased to tell me that he had erased my existence from the clone’s mind,” said Rip, looking down at the half-finished jigsaw.

“Actually, he was the reason we found you. Well, him and Mona. We were already looking for you, because he left us a message to tell us you were alive and that he was a clone. He had forgotten a lot, but not everything and he said it took a while to come back. He remembered meeting you and that Druce had wiped his memories, but it was too late, by that point Mallus was intent on destroying time and we had to act. He took the time drive and overloaded it to buy us enough time to work out how to unlock the totems and destroy Mallus,” said Sara. “He was a hero, and according to John, he’s still out there somewhere.”

Rip nodded a little and then winced.

“Are you okay?”

“My brain was damaged by the machine. TC is doing his best, but the headaches keep returning. We’re both hoping that some of the pain is because my brain is healing,” said Rip, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about his condition. “How is John coming along with working out a way to find my doppelganger?”

“I hear it’s slow going, but he usually comes through,” said Sara, “Rip…” and she paused, biting her lip before deciding whether to continue.

“Whatever you have to say, please say it. I am always tired at the moment and I can’t guarantee that I won’t fall asleep soon,” said Rip, and he did sound tired.

“I’m sorry that I turned the clone in to the Time Bureau,” said Sara. “I should have known it wasn’t you. I should have worked it out, and even without that, I shouldn’t have bargained with his freedom for the chance for the Legends to carry on fixing the timeline.”

“You’re apologising to the wrong person, Sara,” said Rip. “I wasn’t the one who was beaten and had my memory rewritten.”

“No, but you were tortured and imprisoned, and I made it worse for you because the clone couldn’t free you before his memory was erased,” said Sara.

“It wasn’t your fault, it was Druce,” said Rip, fiercely. “He manipulated everyone so that it would be harder for anyone to interfere in his scheme. He made sure that there was no one close to the clone who would identify him as wrong and the people who might have, well, he ensured that you were alienated from him by how the clone treated you. Druce was responsible for everything that happened to me, not you. You made a mistake, that’s all, and hopefully you have learnt something from it.”

Sara looked at him thoughtfully, and nodded.

“Maybe. Perhaps to give my friends the benefit of doubt when they ask me for help, even when they’re assholes,” said Sara.

Rip opened his mouth, giving her a look of mock disappointment and then spoke.

“That wasn’t quite what I was going for, but I suppose it will do.”

“There’s something else I have to ask,” said Sara.

“Go ahead, the only thing you’re keeping me from is further depressing evidence of my mental deterioration,” said Rip, a hand indicating the jigsaw puzzle.

“Actually, I was going to ask you if it’s true that you kissed John Constantine?” asked Sara, with a small sparkle in her eye.

Rip’s eyebrows went up as his eyes widened and he stammered with embarrassment.

“How did…? Where did you…? It was John, wasn’t it? He told you himself. He probably boasted about it too!” said Rip, crossly.

Sara laughed.

“I’ll take that as a “yes” then. Wow, Rip, I had no idea we had the same taste in men,” said Sara.

“You too?” asked Rip. “You kissed him? I have no idea why he’s so attractive, but there’s something about him.”

“We did a bit more than kiss,” said Sara, “and we didn’t pick the best time for it. I agree that he is quite something, but don’t tell him I said that. I think he’s more interested in you than me right now. Anyway, I’m spoken for these days.”

“I heard,” said Rip. “I should probably explain my reaction to your partner. I wrongly assumed that she was working with Druce rather than also being one of his pawns.”

“She isn’t a pawn and neither are you,” said Sara. “We talked about it and she knows that you’re not the Rip she worked with. You have control of your own destinies again. I’m sure that the two of you will work it out.”

“I’m sure we will,” said Rip. “But it might take both of us a little while to put away the associations we have with the people who look like us.”

“Do you need anything?” asked Sara.

“Yes, I need _you_ ,” said Rip, which disarmed her somewhat, “I was kept in what amounts to solitary confinement for over a year. The Evans were not exactly good company. I don’t want to be alone like that again. I have appreciated your visits and I would be very happy to see the other members of the team. I know TC has been limiting the number of visitors until I felt more up to it, but I think I benefit more from your presence than your absence at this point.”

Sara suddenly realised something. No one had told Rip how things had gone while he'd been a prisoner.

“Rip, I need to bring you up to speed on some things… A lot has happened this year while you were out of action,” said Sara.

“I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me, am I?”

Sara pursed her lips and shook her head.

“Then you had best give me the bad news,” said Rip.

It took her a few moments to compose herself, but she locked her emotions away, and then she told Rip about the losses that the team had suffered. At least she had the good news of Jax’s baby to soften the blow of losing Martin. She hoped that would be enough.


	6. Words

Zari had only ever met the wrong Rip Hunter, the clone, which of course she hadn’t known at the time. He had managed to save her from getting caught up in a cult sacrifice to Mallus, although the ending to that mission hadn’t exactly been good. She still felt that she owed him one even if just for the moment that he winked at her to let her know that he had a plan and all hope was not lost. She hadn’t been happy when Sara told her that she’d called the Time Bureau on Rip. Where she was from, if you called the authorities on someone then they were as good as dead. Sara, with her cop for a father, had not seen it that way or understood Zari’s anger.

Sara had assured her that Rip would be fine, it would just be a slap on the wrist, nothing more. The Waverider's current captain had actually been as shocked as anyone to hear that Rip had been put in jail. Zari hadn’t been, she’d taken one look at the Time Bureau and known what kind of place it was at that point. Even then, Sara still hadn’t been that concerned for Rip’s wellbeing. Jail wasn’t pleasant, but he should be safe there. They’d had no idea what was really going on.

The clone hadn’t come out of the ordeal unscathed, although he’d hidden it well. The real Rip definitely didn’t look fine when she entered his hospital room and found him with the physiotherapist doing very careful leg lifts. He was dressed in a pair of navy blue pyjamas, with an untidy beard that the clone hadn’t had and he looked _tired_. He’d lost muscle mass and weight in general. His skin had taken on a sickly, pale, almost translucent appearance that she recognised from seeing other prisoners who had spent more time in a cell than they had anywhere else for long periods. Even if she hadn’t known his story then she’d probably have known from her own experience what had happened to him, although the additional brain injury was something that she didn’t have an understanding of.

“You must be Miss Tomaz,” said Rip, watching her as she entered. His breath hitched at the end of the sentence as he couldn’t hold the position any longer and his leg dropped back onto the mattress.

She nodded. “Zari is fine. I can come back later if this isn’t a good time?”

“I was just finishing,” said the physiotherapist. “I think Mr Hunter has had enough for today.”

“Most definitely,” said Rip, his chest rising and falling rapidly from this small amount of exertion.

“Okay, so remember what I said about the breathing exercises and don’t forget to keep doing them,” said the physiotherapist, “I’ll see you again tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you,” said Rip, “I appreciate your patience with me.”

“You’re doing fine, and well on schedule to be up and walking soon,” she said, and the physio packed up her bag and left.

“That looked… strenuous,” said Zari, settling on a word that was neutral enough not to offend.

“Tortuous would be a better description,” said Rip, reaching for the button that controlled his pain medication and pressing it. He let out a sigh as the painkillers no doubt began to work. “But necessary, and will hopefully mean I can get back to work sooner rather than later. What can I do for you, Zari?”

“I brought you the files and a present from Gideon,” said Zari, and placed the small speaker that she was carrying down on the bedside. She pressed the button on the side and it sprang to life, blue lights flickering around the rim.

A miniature hologram appeared above the device, and Gideon’s bald, blue head looked at them.

“Hello, Captain Hunter, it’s good to finally see you again,” said Gideon.

“Gideon!” said Rip, a smile spreading across his face, “this is a very pleasant surprise.”

“I have been following your rescue and subsequent treatment, so I asked Miss Tomaz to help me visit. She has worked with Dr Palmer to build a portable holographic emitter and communication device,” said the small hologram, and she was also smiling, just a little.

Zari couldn’t help but also be happy for them, they were both clearly so pleased to see the other.

“The clone told me that he turned you off and I am very sorry that he did that,” said Rip, sincerely.

“You do not need to apologise for his actions. I understand now that he was not you. I must also apologise for not making the required connections to see that he was a clone,” said Gideon.

“It is somewhat outside even your experience, and Druce had you shut down because he was concerned that you would figure it out,” said Rip. “I’m only glad that he didn’t decide to harm you some other way.”

“I look forwards to seeing you back on the Waverider,” said Gideon.

“It will be a little while, but I will be back as soon as I can manage it,” said Rip. “I have missed you a lot, Gideon.”

“And I you, Captain,” said Gideon.

“I thought you might need Gideon’s help with this,” said Zari, and she handed Rip a laptop.

He did his best to hold it, but he wasn’t strong enough and Zari just managed to catch it before it fell to the ground. She hadn’t thought it was particularly heavy but then she hadn’t been held in captivity for the last year. She hadn’t seen the surveillance camera recordings; Ava, Sara and John were the only ones who had watched the unedited footage, and none of them had looked very happy about what they’d seen. Sara had given Zari the gist of what Rip had been through and honestly everyone was somewhat surprised he wasn’t an utter wreck. The isolation alone would probably have destroyed most people, but then Rip Hunter wasn’t “most people”.

“Sorry, I’ve yet to get my strength back,” said Rip apologetically. “Even Gideon and Dr Callahan’s medical skills can’t hurry it up. Also I’m going to need to take frequent breaks while we go through this. I’m afraid I still tend to sleep a lot, and get blinding headaches if I push things too much, and by pushing things too much, I mean try to read for too long or stay awake for more than a few hours at a time. TC has promised that I can try sitting in a chair tomorrow as long as I don’t have any further setbacks.”

Rip seemed a little disheartened, and the last sentence was said with some bitterness. Zari perched the laptop on the bed and opened it, turning it on. She moved through the menus and pulled up the file with the clone’s research inside.

“Okay, we’ll just work at your pace. If you’re getting headaches then you probably want to avoid lots of screen time at the moment, which is going to make it hard to go through all of Rip’s, the other Rip’s research,” said Zari. “Can I do the reading for you?”

“I can read, thank you,” said Rip, looking down at the screen, but blinking heavily in a way that suggested he couldn’t really see what was on it.

“I know you can, but if reading is going to give you a headache, maybe you shouldn’t do it?” said Zari. “I’m not going to think any less of you. Or I could look at installing some software to change the screen colour and contrast?”

“Captain, I suggest you let Miss Tomaz help you,” said Gideon, in a tone that suggested Rip was being foolish.

And just like that he gave in, as if Gideon had some special power. He sighed a little but nodded.

“Thank you for your help,” said Rip. “Gideon is usually right on such matters and I’m afraid that my temper is a little short today, which is no excuse. Perhaps you could help me by reading some of the information today and then install the appropriate software to see if I can manage alone tomorrow. If it’s too much then I may need your further assistance.”

“Okay,” said Zari. “I can do that. So where do you want to start?”

“I need to know what the clone thought Druce was up to. Perhaps you can begin with the headings of the various files and we’ll work from there,” said Rip, leaning back against his pillows.

“What do _you_ think he was up to?” asked Zari, scrolling through the files.

“The end game is that he was trying to stop Earth’s destruction by the Thanagarians, in your far future,” said Rip. “The real question is how?”

“That seems like it would be a good thing,” said Zari.

“Definitely, but not like this. Not the way that Druce went about it,” said Rip. “We will find a way to deal with the Thanagarians, without subjugating the entire Earth to the whim of a tyrant.”

“Okay,” said Zari. “It sounds like we don’t have time to waste.”

“Indeed, which is why I need to know what the clone had discovered in his tenure at the Time Bureau. So, if you wouldn’t mind…” Rip gestured vaguely at the laptop.

Zari nodded and began to read.

It took her quite a while to get through even the basics of what the clone of Rip Hunter had found out about Monarch. Sifting through this much information was almost as much art as it was science and she discovered that Rip was very good at asking the right questions and following up the most promising threads. One of those threads turned out to be a mysterious sarcophagus that had been handed down through the ages until it resided in a Central City museum. Finally, he closed his eyes and leaned back, letting Zari’s words wash over him, or perhaps he’d just fallen asleep, she really wasn’t sure.

“Are you still with me, or did you fall asleep?” asked Zari.

“Sorry,” said Rip, blinking open his eyes again. “I have a headache coming on. I think we’ll have to call it time for today and resume tomorrow. Could I ask you to follow up on what became of the sarcophagus that was sent to the Central City museum? I think my clone was on to something. The pattern fits and it isn’t a particularly normal example of its type.”

“I’ll ask Ava to put some people on it,” said Zari, closing the laptop and getting to her feet. “I’ll take the laptop and make the modifications that we discussed. I’ll bring it back tomorrow and hopefully you should be able to use it yourself.”

“Thank you, again,” said Rip, putting a hand to his forehead, and rubbing at it. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“No problem,” said Zari.

Rip slumped backwards against the pillows limply.

“Rip?” asked Zari.

He started to convulse, his limbs twitching in what Zari immediately recognised as a seizure.

“Shit!” said Zari, and hit the emergency call button.

***

John barged into Rip’s hospital room to find him surrounded by medical personnel. TC was checking vital stats and medical equipment was being pushed out of the room by one of the nurses, in a way that suggested it wasn’t needed any longer. Rip looked pale, but then that seemed to be a permanent state at the moment.

“Zari said he had a seizure,” said John, wide eyed with concern as he approached his friend’s bedside. “Are you okay?”

“I’m having… words… not…” said Rip, and waved a hand in a gesture that John was going to assume meant: “I can’t make myself understood”.

“It’s the seizure. He’s a little confused, but give it some time and it’ll get better,” said TC. “You should wait outside, Constantine.”

“I think he needs a friendly face,” said John.

“He _needs_ rest,” said TC.

“He… cah… can stay,” said Rip, which just about broke John’s heart, and then rebuilt it all in one sentence.

TC rolled his eyes.

“Are all Brits as stubborn as you two?” he asked.

“You should have met… have met… my wife,” stammered Rip.

John smirked.

“Wish I could have, mate,” said John. “It must have taken someone tough to deal with the likes of you.”

“It did,” said Rip.

“Since neither of you are planning on listening to me, you can stay, but you’re not to keep him awake,” said TC. “I’ll be back later, once Gideon and I have looked at your pre-seizure readings.”

TC corralled the rest of the medical staff and they left John and Rip alone.

“Not what I expected to come back to,” said John. “I was hoping you’d be feeling a bit better.”

“I was…” said Rip, and then opened his mouth to say something else and definitely couldn’t find the words. “…the…er…” He looked helplessly at John and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

“Yeah, I know, but TC said it would get better,” said John. “I’ve known epileptics. I had a friend, both him and his Mum had seizures. Usually he was a tad confused afterwards and then right as rain a few hours later.”

Rip gave him a very unimpressed look.

“I think you scared Zari,” said John.

Rip huffed and shook his head. “Unlikely.”

“Well, she was definitely looking worried,” said John. “She’s sharp, that one.”

“She… help… helpful…” Rip tried, and then growled with frustration, and thumped his head back into the pillows.

“Hey, no bashing that head of yours into things,” said John. “The last thing you need is a concussion. I know it’s bloody frustrating, not being able to communicate, but give it a moment.”

“All I do is… lie… lie here,” said Rip, anger that he couldn’t codify expressing itself perfectly through his green eyes.

John put his hand on Rip’s cheek. He hadn’t forgotten the moment the two of them had kissed after Rip’s tender ministrations to a wound picked up on the job. He remembered the feel of Rip’s beard on his skin, the way it tickled pleasantly on his chin and caught in his stubble. He met Rip’s eyes.

“I know something you can do without needing to say a word,” said John, and he leaned in and gently, slowly placed a kiss on Rip’s lips, giving him plenty of time to pull away if he didn’t want this. It wasn’t a long kiss, just enough to give Rip the idea of what John had in mind.

“Oh,” was all Rip said as he pulled back so that he could see John’s face. He frowned.

“I’ve had better reactions,” said John, “but I suppose that’s not the worst.”

“But…” began Rip, but John shook his head.

“Nope, rest that brain of yours. This is just me kissing you because I felt like it, we can work out what it means later, assuming it means anything,” said John. “Want me to kiss you again?”

Rip just grabbed hold of John’s tie and pulled him back down. They kissed with affection and ferocity, their tongues dipping into each other’s mouths. Rip relaxed against him, finally giving in to feeling something other than anger and frustration, and the relief of the release of tension showed in his kisses.

There was the sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway of the room. John reluctantly broke away from the kiss and turned to see Sara.

“I dashed over here to see Rip, because I was worried,” said Sara, “but I guess I didn’t need to be.”

John couldn’t help but grin like the cat that got the cream, whereas a quick glance at Rip indicated that he was very much not okay with Sara having caught them kissing.

“Just providing a bit of comfort to the sick,” said John, cockily.

“That’s not how it looked from here,” said Sara, grinning too now.

“It wasn’t…” began Rip. “It wasn’t…” he tried again, and once more growled in frustration.

“What’s wrong?” asked Sara, suddenly looking a lot more concerned as she moved into the room.

“He’s having a bit of trouble with words. It’s a post-seizure thing. He just needs a bit of time to put everything back in the right places,” said John.

“Can TC do anything?” asked Sara.

Rip shook his head. “…just,” he waved a hand as if searching for a word and sighed.

“We just have to wait,” said John, filling in.

“Thank you,” said Rip. “It’s coming back, just… slowly.”

“Zari tells me you made some progress on Monarch. We’ve been chasing up the other leads, but I’d have missed the sarcophagus connection,” said Sara.

“I don’t know if it’s…” said Rip, unable to finish the sentence again. “This is so…”

“Frustrating? Yeah, you got that right,” said John. “I was in the middle of seducing you before we got interrupted.”

Sara laughed. “Your techniques need a bit of work, John, and I’m pretty sure you should not be taking advantage of Rip in his current weakened state.”

“Weakened state?!” sputtered Rip. “I am…”

“Unable to finish your sentences and you still sleep fourteen hours a day,” said Sara. “It’s hardly fair.”

John just smirked, as Rip looked daggers in Sara’s direction.

“He gave as good as he got,” said John, ignoring the scowl that Rip turned on him.

“Oh did he?” asked Sara, a wicked sparkle in her eyes as she folder her arms over her chest.

The lights flickered and then a siren began to wail.

“What’s that?” asked John, already on alert.

“Intruder alarm, I think,” said Sara, pulling out a knife from somewhere. She always seemed to have several on her person, well hidden.

“Gideon?” asked Rip, and the small speaker unit beside the bed sprang to life with the blue glowing form of Gideon’s avatar. “Report.”

“The Time Bureau is under attack,” said Gideon.

“Who by?” asked Sara.

“An unknown entity has entered the premises through a portal opened by agents,” said Gideon.

Sara sighed. “Of course it is, must be Tuesday. I’ll deal with this. Stay here with Rip.”

The lights went out, and the red emergency lights flickered on. Gideon wavered for a second but remained on, which suggested that someone had the foresight to give her a battery back-up. John would have to thank Zari for that.

“No, you should both go. I’ll be fine,” said Rip. “My words are coming back, and the medical wing is the safest place in the building. You need to leave before it goes into lockdown.”

“Are you sure?” asked Sara.

“Absolutely,” said Rip. “The attacker has no reason to come here.”

John would have believed that Rip was perfectly fine about them leaving too, except for the hitch in his breath and the way that his hands had turned into a fists that were gripping the blanket on his bed with white-knuckled grasps that didn’t look comfortable.

“Actually, Captain, the attacker appears to be heading in this direction,” said Gideon, helpfully, and sounding far too happy.

Her avatar was replaced by a display of a holographic picture of a light brown haired man in a grey jumpsuit moving through the Time Bureau offices, with a number of Evan androids behind him. The man’s unnatural strength made it obvious that he wasn’t simply a human either.

“No…” said Rip, softly, and John knew the start of a horrifying revelation when he heard it.

“What is it?” asked John, but Rip was staring at the display. “Rip? Do you know something?”

“That’s Druce,” said Rip, “but it can’t be… You said he was…”

“Dead,” finished John.

“He is!” said Sara, “and he’s too young to be Druce.”

“A younger version…” said Rip. “Time travel.”

“No, a clone or maybe an android,” said Sara. “The bastard must have made a copy.”

Rip just stared at them in shock.

“No, no, no. He cah… cah… can’t have,” Rip stammered, not really talking to them. “Can’t have.”

John took the stammer as a sign of how stressed Rip was. He was still too quiet and usually Rip would have been working the problem the moment it was set out.

“He’s definitely proving a lot harder to kill than we thought,” said Sara. “Gideon, make sure Ava knows what we’re dealing with. Are the Legends in the building?”

“Yes, Ms Lance,” said Gideon.

“Okay, get them in between Druce and this room. I’ll meet them. John, I need you to keep Rip safe,” said Sara, heading for the corridor. “Shut and lock the door.”

“No fear,” said John. “He’s not getting in here.”

Sara slipped out of the room, shutting the door as she went and John locked it behind her.

“I need a gun,” said Rip, darkly.

“I don’t happen to have one on me. You know how I feel about them,” said John, looking around the room at what he had to work with, which wasn’t much. “Look, I get that you hate being stuck in that bed and you’d rather be out there facing the problem head on, but that’s not going to happen.”

Rip glared at John again. There was the sound of shouting from the corridor, then gunfire and general noises of fighting. Then there was the unmistakeable “ftoooom” of an explosion somewhere in the building. Dust rained down from ceiling, covering everything with a light powder.

“Well, that doesn’t seem good,” said John, brushing the detritus from his hair. “Can you walk at all?”

“A little,” said Rip, throwing back the covers to reveal his dark blue pyjamas and the fact that someone had given him some socks, the kind with the non-slip soles.

Under other circumstances that would have amused John. Rip Hunter, Time Master, wore bed-socks and that was definitely hilarious, but right now was not the time. John moved into position to help Rip, firstly to sit up and get his legs over the side of the bed and then to stand. Rip’s legs gave way almost immediately, meaning the two men ended up in a heap on the ground with a startled groan from John, and a rather more pained exclamation from Rip.

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” asked John.

“Only my pride,” replied Rip, dryly.

“Have you actually been out of bed since we got you out?” asked John.

“Not as such,” said Rip.

“That would have been useful to know,” said John. “I don’t think we’re going anywhere right now.”

“As much as I hate to say it, I agree. Can you help me to the chair?” asked Rip, with a glance at the hospital issue padded armchair in the corner of the room. “I should manage to sit at least.”

John moved the chair a bit closer to the side of the bed and then, between the two of them, they shifted Rip from the floor to the chair. Rip had very little strength and John did most of the lifting, finding that his friend was lighter than he’d expected. Rip’s breathing was fast and shallow, and any colour that he’d had was draining from his skin. The man had also started to shiver, although John wouldn’t have said the room was particularly cold. To make matters worse, the noises from the corridor were getting louder.

John grabbed the blanket from the bed, and threw it over Rip’s lap, whilst he searched the room for anything that might be of use.

“Maybe I can find a wheelchair around here,” said John, and opened a couple of the larger side cupboards.

Rip shook his head, resting heavily against the back of the chair. “They’re kept in the corridor storage cupboard.”

“Bollocks,” said John. “Well, I guess we’re fighting then.”

“You’re fighting,” said Rip. “I’m…” Rip indicated himself tiredly which John was going to assume was Rip referring to the way he looked like death after taking two steps.

“You make a fair point,” said John.

He took a piece of yellow chalk from his pocket and crouched down to sketch out the runes of a magical protection spell around the door. He quickly chanted the necessary Latin to activate it, and with a light blue glow the shield was in place. He looked back at Rip and could see that he was barely hanging in there. He was worn out and shaking from either the cold or anxiety, John wasn’t sure which. He was a little surprised when Rip spoke again and in a completely coherent sentence.

“Gideon, can you interface with the Time Bureau computers?”

“Of course,” said Gideon.

“Look for…” Rip paused and frowned, tapping on his forehead with his fingers as if he could shake something loose. “Not now,” he murmured, “not now.”

“What’s the matter?” asked John.

“Words… he was me,” said Rip, not really talking to John at all.

“Are you talking about the clone? What’s he got to do with this?” asked John, circling back towards Rip.

He wasn’t entirely sure that his friend wasn’t having some kind of breakdown. He had just seen the face of a man who had locked him in a cell, tortured him, and had now come back from the dead. Not only that but a weird younger version of that man was walking towards them with an android army at his back, so John wasn’t going to judge him for being a bit off at this point.

“I would have had a plan… so he did too,” said Rip, tapping on his head again. “If he had enough time… if he remembered…or maybe before… He would have had a plan… He didn’t trust him either…”

“Rip, you’re not making any sense,” said John, catching Rip’s hand before it could continue its nervous action and possibly cause injury.

“Sorry,” said Rip, “it’s just… words. They won’t come!”

John could practically feel the frustration himself, just from the tone of voice.

“Gideon, any idea how to help?” asked John.

“I’m uncertain what the Captain requires,” said Gideon. “Perhaps you could try writing instead of speaking. The two linguistic centres are often affected differently by brain injury.”

“Right,” said John, and looked around for something to write with and on. There wasn’t much in the room.

He found a battered magazine called “Combat Weekly” that one of Rip’s visitor’s had been reading, probably Sara since it appeared to be an issue about knives. Then he patted his pockets down and successfully located a biro. He scribbled across the front of the pages until the ink started to flow and then handed both to Rip.

Rip looked at the pen and magazine for a moment but then took both and turned the pages until he found a spread with a large enough margin to write in.

“I would have called it…” and he tapped on the page for a moment. He wrote out three letters S, B and T but then crossed them the S and B. “Wrong…” he muttered. “One word code for external action…” and wrote out T E R M I N U S.

“Terminus?” asked John. “What’s that?”

“Gideon, look for a Terminus… process? No… look for a Terminus Protocol in the Time Bureau’s security program files. Is it there?”

“Searching,” said Gideon. “Confirmed. Terminus Protocol – it appears to be a program designed to incapacitate androids built by the AVA factory using back doors in their programming identified by Director Hunter.”

“The clone?” asked John. “Are you telling me that the clone had a way to disable those Evan robots?”

“Exactly,” said Rip.

“Then why didn’t he use it? He could have taken Druce down before he messed with your brains again,” said John.

“The Time Bureau computers are not as sophisticated as I am. The clone would have needed to access the protocol and then find a way to transfer it to the Evan androids. The cell where Captain Hunter was held was purposefully free of technology that he could have used, probably for this very reason,” said Gideon.

“Okay, well, we’ve got Gideon on our side now. What are we waiting for?” asked John.

Rip gave John the beginnings of a smile that he recognised all too well. It was the one that Rip only had on his face when he knew he’d got the better of his enemy. John had only seen it directed at himself once, and given what happened afterwards he hoped never to see it sent his way again.

“Gideon, activate Terminus Protocol, wireless signal transmission,” said Rip.

“Yes, Captain,” said Gideon. “Transmitting.”

It took a few moments, but the sounds of fighting outside the door ceased. John gave it a couple of extra minutes, just to be on the safe side and then he undid the protection spell around the door, and cautiously opened it to peer out. The sight that greeted him was a charred corridor which was interspersed with the bodies of deactivated androids, one very dead clone, and tired looking members of the Legends and Time Bureau who were crawling out from behind their cover, holstering weapons and picking over the debris.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” said John, turning back to Rip. “How did you know that was even there?”

“It’s what I would have done,” said Rip, with a slight lift of his shoulders. “He was me.”

Ray and Sara jogged over to the open door, as John kicked it fully open and leaned against the frame. He took out a cigarette, put it in his mouth and lit up. There was enough smoke in the air that he doubted a bit more would make any difference at this point.

“Did you have something to do with this?” asked Sara, looking at the cigarette with disapproval.

“Not me, love,” said John. “You can thank Rip for the scrap heap in the corridor.”

“Rip?” asked Sara, with surprise.

“How did you manage to disable them from here?” asked Ray, removing his helmet. “Zari tried hacking into them but couldn’t get past their firewall.”

“He cheated,” said John, “he had more time than you lot.”

“More time?” asked Ray.

“The clone left a failsafe program in the computer for me to find,” said Rip. “I just had to work out it was there.”

“Just as well you did work it out,” said Ray. “I’m not sure we’d have been able to take them down before they destroyed the building.”

“What were they even after?” asked John.

“They were heading here, so I’m going to say that they wanted Rip,” said Sara.

“That makes no sense,” said Rip. “I’m no threat to anyone. Look at me.”

John did for a moment, and Rip certainly looked like a stiff breeze would knock him down, but as he’d just proven, appearances could be very deceiving. Especially where Rip Hunter was concerned. It wasn’t like he ever really looked like he was someone who could even hold his own in a bar fight, if John was honest, but he’d once seen Rip take down a pack of werewolves with a silver letter opened and a carefully thrown bottle of photographic developer solution. John had never underestimated Rip again following that incident.

“You just took out an army of androids,” said Ray, so John hadn’t been the only one thinking like that. “From your hospital room.”

“I know I said you had time to heal, but with everything that’s been going on, I think we might be running a bit shorter than I thought,” said John.

“If this is…,” said Rip, with an expansive wave. “Yes, I think you’re right. I need to get better… faster.”

“You can’t make your body heal, Rip,” said Sara. “TC and Gideon are doing their best, but biology has its limits even with Gideon’s technology.”

“And since we just busted up the Time Bureau fighting a bunch of robots, maybe we should think about moving Rip to the Waverider,” said Ray.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” said Rip, which made John frown and stub out his cigarette, after a final drag.

“Why not?” asked Sara.

“Druce is capable of planning too,” said Rip. “He’s been one step ahead all along.”

Ava skidded to a halt by the door to Rip’s room and everyone pretended that they didn’t see Rip flinch at her mere presence.

“We got them all,” said Ava. “Whatever they were after, they didn’t get it.”

“They wanted Rip,” said John. “They were coming here.”

The group looked towards the former Time Master, who just returned their looks with utter bafflement.

“Anything he might have wanted from me, he already took,” said Rip. “He had plenty of time to ask the clone questions, and he had access to my memories.”

“Unless you haven’t done it yet,” said Ray, at which point all eyes were suddenly on the inventor.

“You think Druce is trying to get to Rip now to stop him doing something later?” asked Sara.

“It’s possible,” said Ray. “We know that Rip’s clone was investigating Druce’s plans and that Rip has been looking at what he found out since he’s been back. I mean, there’s no way to know for sure.”

“If that is the case…” began Rip, his voice sounding even more tired than before, and John could tell he was still having to search for words even if they came more easily now. “He won’t stop with that attempt.”

“No, he won’t,” said Sara. “And he’ll continue causing us trouble with anachronisms and the magical creatures. He wants us distracted, off our guard. That’s what he did the first time. He had us chasing our tails and inadvertently helping him at every turn.”

“Indeed,” said Rip. “Although he was helped by the Oculus.”

“I’m with Ray,” said Sara. “The Waverider is the safest place for you right now. We can move you around. In the Time Bureau, you’re a sitting duck.”

“I have missed you a great deal,” said Gideon, and John remembered that he also had a computer for competition when it came to people who were interested in Rip.

“Was anyone planning on consulting his doctor before you made decisions regarding my patient?” asked an annoyed sounding TC as he pushed past the Legends and went over to Rip. “What are you doing out of bed? We were going to get you up tomorrow, with the physio and a lot of painkillers. Your blood pressure is in the floor and I bet you feel like shit.”

“An accurate assessment,” said Rip. “I can mostly hold a conversation though, so some progress has been made.”

“That would have happened if you’d stayed in bed too,” said TC. “Come on, let’s get you lying down again. Ray, John, want to give me a hand?”

John and Ray moved in to help get a rather annoyed Rip on his feet and then moved the few feet back to his bed, while TC checked readings and made sure the medical cuff was properly in place and working. Rip was practically asleep from the moment his head touched the pillow. John’s hand lingered on Rip’s arm and he gave it a quick squeeze of reassurance. He'd hoped for a better resumption of their relationship, although he didn’t think it could really be called such after only a few impromptu kisses squeezed in between more important things. Not yet.

“Rip needs to rest,” said TC, which was becoming a common refrain. “You can post guards, but he’s not moving anywhere for a few hours, and if you want to take him to the Waverider then you’re going to have to take me too.”

“I have looked after the Captain’s medical needs for over thirteen years,” said Gideon. “The Waverider’s medbay is equipped to deal with all emergencies.”

“I’m not insulting your resources, Gideon,” said TC, quickly. “But you said it when you classified it as an emergency treatment facility. I’ve seen the medbay, it’s not meant for long term care, and Rip is in the recovery phase. He’ll need a proper bed and someone to help him with his physio. I was an army doctor. I’m not without training for the kind of situations you face and I know how to handle a gun if the worst happens.”

Sara looked at Ava.

“Are you okay with losing your doctor for a while?” she asked.

“As long as Dr Callahan thinks that the rest of his staff can manage without him for,” said Ava.

“Yeah, they should be fine for a few days and I assume we’ll be checking in every so often,” said TC.

“Definitely,” said Sara, her eyes meeting Ava’s.

“I’m coming too,” said John.

“This isn’t a magical threat, John,” said Sara.

“How do you know?” asked John. “Besides I still haven’t found sunshine’s clone, but with the spell that I’ve got in mind, it’ll be easier if I’ve got the original to work with. I might be able to help with tracking down Druce too.”

Sara just raised her eyebrows, and gave John a very knowing look, but didn’t call him on the lie. They both knew that John just wanted to stay close to Rip, but it wasn’t like John was useless in a fight. They wouldn’t be sorry to have the extra manpower if they were going up against Druce and an army of androids. They’d need all the help that they could get.


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has one more chapter to go and it's finished apart from the editing.

When Rip had awoken in his quarters on the Waverider, the familiar sounds and scents were enough to tip him off before he even opened his eyes. The Waverider had always had a distinctive smell of clean corridors, metal and temporal travel, which Rip would have been hard pressed to have described if asked. Miranda had once said that it smelt like a summer day at the end of the universe after a rain shower and he’d known exactly what she meant, but unless you’d experienced it then he doubted anyone would understand what she was trying to convey.

It wasn’t until he’d tried to move that he realised that he was weak and even waking up took more effort than he was accustomed to. For a moment he had wondered why, but then his memories reordered themselves. They had brought him to the Waverider after Druce’s attack on the Time Bureau, and he’d mostly slept for the entire day following.

That was a week ago and he was still hooked up to all manner of medical devices. TC had come with them to act as his personal doctor, which was unnecessary but appreciated. He wasn’t entirely sure that the former combat medic wasn’t also joining them for some additional action in his life, but Rip would have been hypocritical if he’d tried to stop him. He’d also been somewhat surprised that John had decided to tag along, given his general past dislike of time travel. He supposed a lot had happened whilst he’d been wasting away in the Time Bureau’s basement.

Even after a week, waking up on the Waverider was a novelty and one that he was actually enjoying. He might still be feeling as if he’d gone ten rounds with Grodd but he was on his own ship, in his own quarters. Everything would be looking up except for the fact that apparently Druce was still trying to kill him from beyond the grave, a fact which Rip was taking quite personally.

“What time is it Gideon?” he asked.

“10am,” replied Gideon. “Ship's standard time. Do you require help?”

“No, I am quite comfortable, more so now that I am home,” replied Rip. “I didn’t mean to sleep so late.”

Gideon allowed him his ego and didn’t point out that he spent quite a lot of his time sleeping. He still wasn’t supposed to sleep on his back, and they’d brought the hospital bed with him so that he had more support than his own would have given him. It also had a mattress that helped prevent further pressure sores and various other features that had helped during his convalescence in the medical wing. He wondered why the Waverider hadn’t come equipped with them too, but then it had never been considered that a Time Captain would need time to recuperate after injury. Rip had been expected either to soldier on or die trying.

There was a groan from the other end of the room, which alerted him to the fact that he was not alone and had a roommate. John had appeared late the previous evening, complained that the Legends kept wandering through the library while he was trying to sleep, talked for a while and then settled down on the couch and fallen asleep. Rip had the distinct impression that John was guarding him, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

The blond man pushed himself up into a sitting position with a start. John’s hair stood up at odd angles, and he looked around with bleary eyes. His shirt was crumpled, and half undone. His tie had been removed and deposited on the floor next to his shoes and coat.

“Whah?” John asked the air in front of him.

“Good morning, John,” said Rip, with a little amusement.

“Bloody hell, that sofa is uncomfortable,” said John, arching his back. “I think the floor in the library might have been the better option.”

“I could just ask Sara to find you a room,” said Rip, although he suspected not being officially allocated a room had nothing to do with why John had spent the night in someone else’s quarters.

“I’m not staying long enough for that,” said John. “It’ll be fine for a couple of nights while we sort this madness out.”

“You could have stayed in 2018,” said Rip.

“And leave you with the Legends? That sounds like a recipe for disaster. They were the ones that let the other you walk off with the time drive core and blow himself up. God knows where he ended up,” said John, with disgust.

“I’m sure you’ll work out a way to track him down,” said Rip.

“Yeah, as soon as I’ve found a way to stop my spell just finding you again,” said John. “Which is taking a lot longer than I thought. Apparently, the issue of clones hasn’t come up much in magical lore.”

“I suppose that isn’t that surprising,” said Rip. “Clones are a technological invention that magic never foresaw.”

“I could foresee the advantages to having two of you,” said John, getting to his feet and approaching the bed.

Rip rolled his eyes, John was not at all subtle.

“Is there anything that you can’t turn into innuendo?” asked Rip.

“I’m very talented when it comes to my tongue,” said John, with a grin.

“If you want to kiss me then you just have to ask,” said Rip.

John’s grin only widened. “It’s more fun to tease you.”

John put a hand on Rip’s cheek, then leaned in and the two men kissed enthusiastically for a moment, both warring for control until Gideon spoke.

“Dr Callahan is on his way,” said Gideon.

The kiss was ended with an annoyed groan from John. Rip sighed and tried not to pout. He was finding the constant monitoring to be oppressive and increasingly annoying. TC was a friend, and had been from the early days of the Bureau, but he was always a doctor first. That meant he refused to let Rip do anything which might be detrimental to his health, and disappointingly, he wouldn’t let his patient work every single moment that he was awake. That had been the case even when he was well, so went double now he wasn’t.

“His timing is impeccable,” said Rip.

“I suppose we’ll just have to resume this later,” said John, sadly.

“Indeed, and I shall look forwards to that,” said Rip. “We need to talk properly about this.”

“Do we have to?” asked John. “Can’t I just snog you from time to time, no strings attached?”

“I think we’re already past that point,” said Rip.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” replied John, a smile on his lips.

“I wouldn’t say that, but I have noticed that you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with me and it has not been… unwelcome,” said Rip.

John laughed.

“Wow, high praise, _not unwelcome_ ” said John, mimicking Rip with annoying accuracy. “It’s a good job that I know you and realise that is actually a huge compliment. I like you too, Rip, and I guess we’ll see how this goes.”

Rip just gave him a thoughtful nod. He was aware that he wasn’t always an easy person to get to know and he wasn’t sure exactly what either of them wanted out of this. He did know that John was also a friend and he had precious few of those. He only hoped that introducing another dimension into their relationship didn’t damage it.

“I should go,” said John. “I need to hit those books.”

The warlock raised an arm and sniffed at his armpit, clearly deciding that it wasn’t that bad, because he grabbed his tie from where it lay by the couch and wrapped it around his collar. He shoved his feet into his shoes and picked up his coat.

“If you like, Gideon can fabricate you a change of clothes. Do you know where the fabrication room is?” asked Rip, unwilling to take the conversation further right now. Changing the subject seemed like a good idea.

“Yeah, I’ve had the tour,” said John, as the door chimed and then opened to admit the doctor. “I’ll leave you to TC and his tender ministrations.”

TC raised his eyebrows as John moved past him to the door.

“He spent the night?” asked TC, waiting until the door had shut before speaking.

“You can take that look off your face. He slept on the sofa. There isn’t room in this bed for two,” said Rip.

TC held up his hands in surrender. “You’re two grown adults. It’s none of my business what you get up to as long as it’s safe, sane and consensual.”

Rip chuckled. “I’m pretty sure that sanity is relative with John.”

“I think that’s more than I wanted to know,” said TC. “So, how are you feeling today?”

“Better than yesterday,” said Rip. “I slept relatively well and I think that helped.”

“And the headache?” asked TC.

“At manageable levels,” said Rip. “It’s getting better, I think, but it’s just doing it slowly.”

“It’s keeping pace with the inflammation,” said TC, “which is also improving slowly. The lesions are healing too, according to Gideon’s latest scans. So, I think we can continue with the plan to get you up and moving. I’d like to see you sitting in the chair instead of in bed during the day too.”

Rip nodded, his enthusiasm and impatience showing. He really hated being stuck in bed, and being back on the Waverider had made the misery worse in some ways. The Waverider would always be home and he was glad to be here to see out his recovery, but he couldn’t even walk to the bridge on his own at the moment. There would be no going on missions, let alone leading them, until he was much stronger, and it hurt to have to sit on the side-lines when he knew the importance of their current endeavour.

TC began a careful manoeuvre to get Rip standing, and then to gently help him to the chair by the bed. The slowness and support helped to prevent Rip ending up on the floor again. Then TC helped him to change out of his pyjamas and into sweats, which was an improvement to spending yet another day in his nightwear. They did the usual physio routine in the chair rather than the bed and TC didn’t want him to move back until he wanted to sleep. It was easier than it had been on previous days and it actually felt like progress.

Sara and Zari arrived towards the end of the session. Both women gave an appearance of calm competence, which was not something that Rip had come to expect from the Legends. Zari had a laptop under her arm and hair tied back in a business-like manner.

“You’re getting some colour back,” said Sara. “You don’t actually look like you’re about to fall over.”

“You have a fantastic bedside manner,” said Rip, dryly. “But I am improved, definitely.”

He was feeling the aches from his physio settling into his muscles and his mood was never at its best when he was hurting, which was all the time at the moment. He was very glad of the extra painkillers that Gideon had administered at his request, without even having to click a button.

“And apparently you’re back to your usual eloquent self too,” replied Sara.

“Mostly,” said Rip. “I still sometimes find words that I want have vanished from my vocabulary, but in general, I’m progressing. I assume that you have an update on our current mission.”

“We do,” said Zari. “So, that sarcophagus you suggested we take another look at, well, you were right. It’s not ancient. I can’t find any culture that it would have come from which used the right materials, or made use of symbols like the ones decorating it. It’s been attributed to the Aztecs, the Minoans, the Egyptian, the Sumerians, the list goes on and it reads like a Who’s Who of the world’s major ancient civilizations with no actual evidence to back up any claim. I was able to find some better images of it.”

Zari brought the laptop over and showed Rip the new pictures. The sarcophagus was huge, larger than any similar object found in an Earthly tomb and made from a material that no one had been able to identify using conventional means. It was humanoid in shape, depicting a stylised and ancient looking figure that could have passed for Babylonian or Egyptian but wasn’t either. The material was pinkish red, which made him think of polished granite. However, it had none of the dappling that he would have expected from the minerals of granite, this looked more crystalline or even metallic, but that didn’t fit with the age.

The symbols were what tipped him off to the real origin. There were embossed in a raised line along the edge of the casket, each one about three or four centimetres square and about half a centimetre proud of the surface. It looked as if they were made from a different material, described by most archaeologists as an inlay, or perhaps they were painted to stand out. No one seemed sure, but he knew because he had seen them once before, a long time ago.

“Those aren’t ancient symbols,” said Rip. “They’re Martian.”

“Martian?” asked Sara. “Like J’onn J’onnz?”

Rip nodded.

“Can you read it?” asked Zari.

Rip shook his head.

“J’onn J’onnz may be the only person alive who can,” said Rip.

“How did Martian technology find its way to Central City?” asked Zari.

“I think we need to find that out,” said Sara. “Do you have any idea what it actually is?”

“I have a theory,” said Rip. “Based on other examples of Martian technology, I think that “sarcophagus” may actually be a stasis pod. Monarch was human once, but he was bonded with an alien metal that granted him immense power when combined with the Monarch armour. However, even then he would still age and die without the technology to preserve him and move him back through time.”

“Okay, so we think that the sarcophagus has Monarch inside it?” asked Zari.

“Exactly,” replied Rip.

“How did the other Rip even find out about this?” asked Sara.

“I can only go by what was in his notes and extrapolate with what I would have tried. He was looking for unusual power consumption. Soon after the sarcophagus arrived in Central City there was a series of power outages that were so unusual and widespread across the city that they made the paper, reported by Iris West Allen,” said Rip.

“Which led him to the sarcophagus how?” asked Sara.

“I’m not entirely certain, but I think he scanned the news feeds for strange activity around the time of the power issues. I doubt he was looking for artifacts specifically, and it must have taken him a considerable amount of time to narrow it down to that specific thing. It arrived in the museum at the right time and it’s an archaeological mystery, I assume that was enough to catch his eye and then he looked into it further,” said Rip. “Are setting a course for Central City in 2018 then?”

“ _You_ are staying here, but yes, we’re taking the jumpship to Central City. With Druce after you, I won’t risk taking you out of the timestream,” said Sara. “You’re much safer staying on the Waverider until we’ve got this all tied up.”

“That sarcophagus is the best lead we have on Monarch,” said Rip, “and I’m the only one of us who has encountered him before.”

“You didn’t tell us that,” said Sara.

“I assumed you knew,” said Rip.

“How could I when you never tell us anything. You’re still not going,” said Sara.

Rip rolled his eyes.

“I realise that I can’t leave the ship, but at least I can offer guidance over the coms,” said Rip. “Druce has no reason to think that we’ll be in Central City.”

“You’re the one that said he’s always been one step ahead,” replied Sara. “You can’t pick and choose when you follow your own advice.”

“Well, you can,” said Zari, “it’s just a little hypocritical.”

Sara gave her an annoyed look, which Zari ignored with a roll of her eyes.

Sara turned back to Rip. “I’m the current Captain of the Waverider and I just want what’s best for everyone, which includes you being safe.”

“If Druce has his way and Monarch gets a foothold this early in the timeline then no one will be safe, Sara,” said Rip. “Druce is deluding himself if he thinks he can have any kind of control over a being like Monarch. He’s only interested in the total subjugation of the Earth. He is far more dangerous than even Vandal Savage was.”

“Which is just another reason why you shouldn’t be anywhere near this. You had a seizure just a few days ago, and this is only what? The fifth time you’ve made it out of bed in a month,” said Sara. “You’re in no shape to even be considering running a mission, not even over coms.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Rip. “I’ve run missions whilst close to starvation and in the throes of radiation poisoning. This is merely slowing me down a little.”

“You have no idea how disturbing that is, do you?” asked Zari, shock in her eyes.

“Time Masters didn’t get to pick and choose the missions we pursued,” said Rip. “Sometimes I was still recovering from the previous one when I had to embark upon the next.”

“That is _screwed up_ ,” said Zari. “And you’re not a Time Master anymore. You don’t have to do that now.”

Sara looked a little impressed at Zari’s words and Rip definitely didn’t like it when his crew ganged up on him, even when they had his best interests at heart. Or maybe _especially_ when they had his best interests at heart. He let out a long sigh.

“I do, because there is no one else. I am the only one left who has the knowledge that the Time Masters accrued,” said Rip. “And I am doing my best to pass on what I can, but I find myself failing at every turn.”

“Not this time,” said Sara. “You’ve got us, and you didn’t fail. It’s a work in progress. Get some rest, we’ll report in when we get back.”

“Sara…” began Rip, more protests on his lips, but he was cut off. He didn’t want to rest, and he’d have been happier if Sara would listen to what he was saying. He wasn’t convinced that she knew what she was doing at all.

“No, Rip, I’m in charge here and you’re still not well,” said Sara. “That’s the end of it.”

All Rip could do was give Sara and Zari an annoyed look.

“Fine,” said Rip, tersely. “But you need to know how to deal with the sarcophagus. It’s important that you return it to the future. Anything else damages to the timeline.”

“Didn’t you just tell us that Monarch is a tyrant, worse than Vandal Savage?” asked Zari.

“Yes, and there is a reason we don’t kill tyrants,” said Rip. “Captain Lance is well aware that I have struggled with that particular directive myself. It is entirely possible to make the timeline worse. Monarch already kills millions in a world where the technology is available to combat him, the people of this era wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You don’t have to convince me,” said Sara. “The last thing we want to do is face Monarch in Central City.”

“Sara, the last thing you want to do is face Monarch at all,” said Rip. “My concern is that this is what Druce wants and that he will be waiting for you.”

“Way ahead of you,” said Sara. “I called ahead, and The Flash is going to be there backing us up. I’m doing the best I can to lower the risks to the team. You just have to trust us.”

“I _do_ trust you,” replied Rip, “but I remember the mass graves that were being dug for Monarch’s victims… Please be careful, even more so than usual.”

“Understood,” said Sara.

“I’ll leave you the laptop,” said Zari, “you might want to go through everything and see if we missed something. If Druce or his clone doesn’t turn up then we’ll still have to find him. I’ve made all the changes that we talked about so you should find it easier to read the screen. Just don’t do too much in one go.”

She handed him the laptop and Rip rested it on his knees. The weight of even this slimline model was too much for him to hold, but he was at least getting a little stronger each day.

“I’ll take it slowly,” said Rip. “Like everything else that I do at the moment,” he added, bitterly.

***

John returned from his stint in the library to find Rip in a black mood, glaring at the screen of a laptop computer. He had made it out of bed and was no longer in pyjamas but sweats and a white t-shirt.

“I thought Sara’s mission briefing would have cheered you up a bit,” said John, but that had clearly been too much to hope for.

He had bumped into the former assassin and current Captain of the Waverider in the corridor as she was on her way to the jump ship. She had given him a quick summary of where she was going and why, but not gone into the details other than that Rip wasn’t exactly happy.

“And why would you think that?” spat Rip. “She’s leading the team on a mission that is far more dangerous than any of them can comprehend. They weren’t there when…”

Rip seemed to realise that he was about to say something that he shouldn’t and tailed off, shaking his head.

“Where’s your keeper?” asked John, knowing when to change the subject.

“If by keeper, you mean TC, he has gone to get some food and to have a well-earned break,” said Rip. “I wanted some peace to finish reviewing these files, although I’m not really getting anywhere. I feel like I’m constantly working at half-speed at the moment. TC is insisting on regular breaks, which, of course, Gideon is enforcing and I’m still on too many drugs to have a properly clear mind.”

Rip glared at the screen with undisguised annoyance.

“I have some news,” said John. “I think I can find your clone.”

Rip’s head snapped up and John found that he suddenly had all of the time traveller’s attention.

“How?” asked Rip.

John shrugged.

“I’ve been going about this all wrong. I was trying to scry for him, which worked to find you because you were in the same time period as us. Scrying’s not exactly a precise science either, which is why I could tell that there’s another one of you out there, just not where he is,” said John.

“Yes, I know all of that,” said Rip.

“Pardon me for trying to give my revelation a little context,” said John. “Anyway, I think what I should be trying is sympathetic magic. He was cloned from your cells, so essentially he’s part of you.”

Rip frowned at John and closed the laptop.

“Sympathetic magic? You need a piece of me to find him?”

“That’s about the size of it,” said John, taking out a small plastic bag. “Some hair or a fingernail should do it.”

Rip reached up and plucked a few hairs from his scalp. He handed them to John, who put them in the bag.

“You do realise that your just gave me power over you,” said John, holding up the bag and looking over towards Rip’s desk. He’d need a flat surface for this. “There are a lot of potions and spells that need something of the person they work on. Giving locks of hair to strange magicians is going to get you into trouble.”

Rip just gave John an amused look.

“You are certainly quite strange, I’ll give you that, but I think it’s a little late for me to question whether you’re on my side. Just do the spell, John,” said Rip, ignoring John’s obvious and heavy handed attempts to flirt.

“You’re keen to find him. He was partly responsible for keeping you in that basement prison. I’m surprised the two of you were so chummy,” said John.

“He was a victim as much as I was. If nothing else, I owe my clone a debt. Sara might never have realised that I was still alive or discovered Druce’s plans if not for the files he left,” replied Rip.

“Okay, we’ll get to it then,” said John.

He went to the desk and pushed some of Rip’s knickknacks out of the way to make enough space for the trappings of the spell he needed to do. The man definitely had the tendency to hoard and whilst no one would say Rip’s room was untidy, it was full of souvenirs from his travels and almost as many books as the library.

“Please be careful with my things. How does this work?” asked Rip, clearly intrigued now.

“I’m not entirely sure,” said John. “I’ve never looked for something across time before, but I’m sure we’ll find out.”

He pulled a small bowl from his coat pocket, dumped some dried herbs from a second pocket into it and a chicken foot. Then he finally added the hair that he’d collected from Rip, a dash of whisky from his hipflask and a pinch of salt. With a grin he set fire to the contents of the bowl and intoned the words of the incantation. Magic crackled in the air and the hairs on the back of John’s neck stood up. For a moment nothing seemed to be happening except a rise in the thaumaturgical atmosphere of the room.

Spells could short circuit sometimes. Magic was more art than science in his experience and if you didn’t say things correctly or put enough effort behind your words then it could just fizzle out. That was the best case scenario, of course. The worst was that you ended up with a spell that could kill you or accidentally summoned something you didn’t want summoning.

Rip gasped suddenly and John could see that he was clutching the arms of the chair he was sat in. His eyes were wide open as if he were watching something, but there was nothing to see. It was still just the two of them in the room. The laptop fell off his lap and onto the hard floor with a crack that didn’t bode well for it ever working again.

“Rip?” asked John, worry creeping into his tone, and then he said it again, more urgently as no response was forthcoming. “Rip!”

He was back across the room and leaning down to look into Rip’s strangely vacant eyes before his brain caught up with his body. John could feel the magic now, wrapping itself around Rip and he realised that he had no idea how to break this spell. He wanted to touch him, but even that might be the wrong call at this point. He knew a few generic chants for ending magic rituals, but he hadn’t thought to find out if this particular rite had a way to end it if it went wrong. His research was beginning to be exposed as less than thorough.

“Rip, come on, snap out of it,” said John, desperately. “This wasn’t meant to happen like this. It’s supposed to just use you as the starting point, not do whatever this is.”

He gave up, sent a pleading look skyward and shook the man, but still it was as if Rip had his own movie playing behind his eyes. John swore long and colourfully, then began trying to remember any of the cancellation spells that could potentially stop this, when suddenly everything seemed to change. Rip took another gasp of air, like someone emerging from a deep dive, and the magical energy disappeared rapidly, seeping away back into the world as if it were water after a rainstorm.

“Rip? Are you okay?” asked John, concerned.

Rip blinked and looked around himself as if he was seeing the room for the first time.

“I’m back,” he murmured.

“Back? Back from where?” asked John, “you were right here the whole time.”

“I was seeing through his eyes… and I know where he is. I should have thought of it sooner…” mused Rip, not really talking to John but more to himself.

The room shook and Rip was suddenly alert and trying to get to his feet, but John pushed him back down.

“What now?” John asked, not really directing the question at anyone in particular.

“Gideon?” asked Rip.

“We appear to be under attack,” said Gideon. “Mr Palmer is engaging evasive manoeuvres.”

“We’re in the time stream, that shouldn’t be possible,” said Rip.

The ship shuddered.

“And yet it is,” said John, with annoyance.

“I need to get to the bridge,” said Rip.

“Have you learnt nothing?” asked John. “You’re in no shape to be running towards danger.”

“There is a wheelchair in the corner,” said Rip. “Help me get to the bridge. This crew may think they know everything there is to know about time travel but they don’t, and this is definitely outside of their comfort zone.”

Rip struggled to his feet, putting a hand out to steady himself on the back of the chair. John just rolled his eyes at his stubborn idiot of a friend.

“I will walk if I have to,” said Rip.

John laughed at that.

“Yeah, right, you won’t get ten steps before you fall on your arse,” said John.

“You’re an utter bastard and I will remind you of this the next time you’re injured and want my help,” said Rip.

John just smirked at him with a raise of his eyebrow. Rip was absolutely not in the kind of shape required to be wandering up to the bridge and taking charge. John was convinced that Rip would either be collapsing into a heap on the floor shortly or he’d be asking for John to help him back to bed. One of those outcomes was definitely going to happen because the idea of Rip doing anything else was ludicrous. The ship shook again, and Rip grabbed hold of the chair tighter as he nearly lost his footing.

“John, my ship is being shot at and I would really like to do something about that,” said Rip, sweat beginning to bead on his skin. Then he proceeded to remove the medical cuff from his wrist.

“That’s not a good idea, mate,” said John, beginning to think maybe his predictions had been premature. “There’s a reason Gideon’s been giving you the good stuff.”

“I don’t need it,” said Rip, but he was already looking the worse for being upright.

“What the hell is going on here?” asked TC, from the doorway. Apparently the doctor had come to check on his patient.

“He’s being a stubborn wanker,” said John, waving a dismissive hand in Rip’s direction.

“I need to get to the bridge!” said Rip.

“Hell, no!” said TC. “Are you out of your god damned mind? Sit down and put that cuff back on your wrist.”

“Why do neither of you get the urgency of this situation?” shouted Rip.

He took three faltering, wobbly steps forwards and then his foot wouldn’t quite turn out as he tried to put it on the ground. He pitched forwards and it was sheer luck that John was in position to catch him.

“You stupid twat,” said John, supporting his friend to prevent him from falling. “Why are you so fucking intent on killing yourself?”

“There shouldn’t be anything that can attack us! The only other timeship in existence is the Sunjammer, which belongs to the Time Bureau and I doubt they’re firing on us,” spat Rip. “Apart from anything, whoever this is waited until the majority of the crew were off the ship. This has all the markings of a trap.”

“He has a point,” said TC, who frowned and then grabbed the wheelchair, pushing it towards Rip and putting the parking brake on.

“You’re not siding with him?” asked John, with disbelief in his tone. “He’s two minutes away from landing on the floor arse first.”

“This is a terrible idea, but I know you’re going to fight tooth and nail not to get back in that bed, so I think this is actually better than the alternative.”

“I don’t know…” said John. “But you’re the one who gets to pick up the pieces afterward, Doc, so I bow to your superior opinion.”

“I promise that I will do whatever you ask once I have dealt with this,” said Rip, “but please, we need to go now.”

TC went to Rip’s other side.

“Don’t make me regret this,” said TC, as he and John helped the former Time Master into the wheelchair.

TC pushed Rip towards the bridge at a jog and John followed on behind, coat flapping around him. The three of them arrived on the bridge just in time for the Waverider’s evasive manoeuvres to fail.

“Gideon, situation report,” said Rip.

Ray, who was sat in the pilot’s seat, turned around to look at the trio.

“What are you doing here? Actually, never mind. We’re being attacked and I’m doing my best to fight back, but they’re quick,” said Ray.

“Dr Palmer is correct,” said Gideon. “The other ship has a design which suggests it was built by the Time Masters but I have been unable to identify her.”

Rip staggered forwards and into the couch beside the pilot’s seat.

“It’s the Medusa,” said Rip, looking out of the viewport. The words were spoken with complete certainty. “She was being built when we destroyed the Oculus. She must have survived the explosion. It was Druce’s pet project. I thought it was something of a white elephant but it seems I was wrong about that as with a great many other things.”

“The Medusa was an experimental design, under development when we last visited the Vanishing Point,” said Gideon. “It has twice the firepower of the Waverider and the latest in engine technology and I do not have complete schematics for her. Several of her systems were classified as top secret.”

“That’s not good, is it?” asked Ray.

“I would say not,” replied Rip, examining the readouts and making the pronouncement as if he’d just told them that the galley was getting low on milk. “Gideon, execute Magenta Polaris on my mark.”

“Yes, Captain,” replied Gideon, with what sounded like approval.

“We’ve already been trying evasive manoeuvres,” said Ray. “They’re faster than us and better at cornering.”

“That is because the Medusa is a warship,” said Rip, tapping at the controls. “But if we give her enough rope then she will hang herself. She has more power than she needs, but I doubt her pilot knows the time streams like Gideon and I do, and we can use that. Everyone, get strapped in. Ray, I need the pilot’s seat.”

Ray got to his feet and then helped Rip shuffle across.

“Are you up to this?” asked Ray, as Rip settled more heavily than usual into the pilot’s seat.

“I’ve been in worse situations,” replied Rip, which was not an answer to the question.

John had absolutely no clue whether this was a good idea at this stage, but the other ship was coming in for another run and they had to do something. He really hoped that Rip had a plan because he didn’t think they’d get a second chance. He also hoped, like Ray, that Rip was well enough to do this, and the pale, damp skin and rapid breathing wasn’t really giving him the confidence that he needed at the moment.

He knew no spells for dealing with a timeship battle, so he was in the hands of others here. He’d never liked it when he couldn’t control his own fate, not when he was ten years old and not now. But if he trusted anyone to get them out of a tight spot then it was Rip. He’d never let John down yet, although they’d had their fair share of disagreements on methodology.

Rip took the controls and John watched as the sickly individual transformed in front of him to the Time Master that he knew. He could see that Rip was running on adrenaline, but his friend understood exactly how to handle this ship and his movements were practised and precise. Each turn was executed on the nose and as Rip had said, the Medusa was having trouble keeping up.

“Captain, if you increase speed any further then it is likely that you will fail to make the course adjustments necessary to navigate the Straits of Kent,” said Gideon. “Your reaction times are slower that usual due to your convalescent state.”

“Noted,” replied Rip, not taking his eyes off what he was doing for a moment or slowing down, or even acknowledging that Gideon had just also flagged her concern that he wasn’t up to this, admittedly in a rather different way than his human friends.

Rip seemed to linger in a straight line for a moment longer than usual, and he visibly decreased speed, so much so that the Medusa had almost caught up with them.

“Rip, they’re coming into weapons range again…” said Ray, worry colouring his tone.

Which was when the Medusa opened fire again.

“Gideon, mark,” said Rip.

“Executing Magenta Polaris,” said Gideon.

“Thank you, Gideon,” said Rip.

Then it was as if they popped back into normal space for a second before returning to the time stream, but now they were considerably behind the Medusa. The enemy ship had obviously continued forwards, unable to slow down sufficiently and fallen into whatever trap Rip had set.

“Is she turning?” asked Rip. “It’s hard to tell with the temporal distortions.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Gideon.

The area of the time stream in front of them did seem to be wavering, like a heat mist on a summer day, but John could clearly see the ship. He glanced over at TC who was frowning. Rip shouldn’t have had any trouble seeing the larger ship.

“I have successfully disabled their navigation systems, but the order was given to turn. I believe they have run aground in the straits as you planned,” said Gideon.

“Open a communications channel,” said Rip.

“You’re not going to shoot them?” asked John.

“No, we need to find out what they know,” said Rip.

“I’d settle for “who are they?”,” said Ray. “One moment we’re just sitting here and the next they appear and start firing.”

“The channel is open, Captain,” said Gideon.

“This is Captain Rip Hunter of the Waverider,” said Rip, “Medusa, you opened fire on us without provocation. Identify your Captain and explain yourself.”

“You know who Captains this ship, Rip, although I think it’s dubious to call yourself the Captain of a ship that hasn’t been yours for over a year and you stole from the docks of the Vanishing Point before that,” said the voice of Zaman Druce, over the radio and then it seemed to come from behind them.

The group turned to see a holographic projection appear in the parlour. It was the younger version, but dressed in combat gear, the kind with a vest with too many pockets and body armour. Everything about this man suggested that he was going to war.

“Are you the real one or another robot?” asked John. “Because it’s getting hard to tell the difference between the cold machine with the lack of empathy and the android.”

“I assure you that I am very real, Mr Constantine,” said Druce, his words bitten off and sharp but otherwise ignoring John’s insult. “And you may wish to remember that I’m the one who taught Rip everything that he knows. Gorgon, open the time portals.”

John heard something to his left and had just enough time to turn his head to see three time portals opening, the kind made by a Time Courier. He was on his feet and had a spell on his lips before his mind had even worked out what was going on.

He hated using naked magic. There were good reasons why he preferred rituals and artefacts to cast his spells through. Without those things it was like connecting himself to a live wire and becoming part of the electrical circuit. There was a buzz for sure, but there were also tingling nerves and the risk of something stopping your heart. And it was addictive if you did too much of it. You started to think you could do anything with the right words and intent. John knew he already had a bit too much hubris for someone in his position and he really didn’t need more fuel for his arrogance.

“Infernis ex umbra, iubeo ignis,” said John, a crimson ball of hell fire forming ready in his hands.

The zing of magic screamed in his blood, pulsating in his veins and reminding him how easy this was for him. Anyone could do basic magic, if they knew how, but to some people it was as simple as breathing the air around them. That was John. For him, magic came naturally.

He launched the fireball at the approaching Evan androids and it smashed into the first one who began to burn. It toppled backwards with a surprised look on its face and into the android behind it, transferring some of the fire back down the line.

“Gideon, temporal shields up!” shouted Rip, urgently.

He had wobbled to his feet and was now stood watching the carnage that John had wrought.

“Yes, Captain,” said Gideon.

The portals suddenly seemed to destabilise and collapse in on themselves. The Evan androids that had the misfortune to find themselves crossing the threshold were instantly destroyed, leaving only the ones that had already made it through.

John knew a nifty little spell to deal with those and he wasted no time in intoning the new incantation and making the appropriate gestures to do what was required. It made him feel invincible to see the robots disintegrating into dust in front of him. The machines had come to either capture or kill them and John had no qualms about ending their existence. He let out a long sigh of relief as the final one became a pile of grey powder on the floor at his feet.

“You are one scary guy,” said TC, his eyes wide at what John had just done.

John just leaned back against the console in the centre of the room. He hadn’t worked out his magical muscles like that for a while, and it was tiring and exhilarating and definitely something that he shouldn’t do too often if he wanted to keep any grasp on his humanity.

The Druce hologram flickered just a little in the parlour and pursed its lips in a gesture of disdain.

“I invented the Time Courier, Druce. Did you think I wouldn’t also invent a defence against it and have it installed in the Waverider?” asked Rip.

“You’re very easily deceived, Rip. Your trusting nature is one of your biggest flaws. I tried to remove it from your clone, but somehow it never took. I suppose it’s buried too deeply,” said Druce. “That was just a small distraction.”

“What are you talking about? What have you done?” asked Rip, urgently.

“I’ve had plans in motion ever since my original form was killed by Grodd and now I’m not tied to one body, I have so much more scope to become the ultimate guardian of time. I won’t allow your compassion to get in the way of saving humanity this time,” said Druce.

“Not tied to a body?” asked Ray, with definite concern, concern that John shared.

Druce laughed at the question.

“You have John Constantine in your merry band of idiots and you haven’t worked it out?”

“You’re a clone or an android. I fail to see what there is to work out,” spat Rip.

“No, Rip, because dead is still dead, and as you’re aware, a clone is not immortality,” said Druce. “I foresaw my death and I planned ahead.”

John’s brain was grinding its gears, trying to process this new information with too much speed and there was a sense of horrible realisation building. Then it all came together in a terrible moment of clarity. He knew exactly what Druce had done and that was not a good thing at all.

“You utter tosser, that’s dangerous stuff that you’re playing with. Against the natural order of things and you must have quite the debt with someone,” said John.

“You assume that we’re all scrabbling in the dirt for the crumbs from the tables of others like you,” said Druce. “I have no debts to anyone, and you are becoming a nuisance to me. I’ll give you one warning to stay out of this, call it for old times’ sake, but I will end you all if you get in my way again.”

“Gideon, scan the Medusa for life signs,” said Rip, suddenly turning back to the controls, desperation on his face.

“There are none, Captain,” said Gideon.

“He’s not on the Medusa,” said Ray. “And if he isn’t on the Medusa, where is he?”

“How’s he even talking to us if he isn’t on the ship?” asked TC.

“He’s using it as a relay,” said Rip. “Gideon, trace it.”

“I am doing so,” said Gideon.

“You’re welcome to try to find me, but you’re running short on time. I recently received a message from my future self, warning me that you would be my death, Rip,” said Druce, “but nothing is set in stone, as we both know. The easiest thing to do is remove you from the board and with it the threat that you pose to time itself. I will forever be disappointed in the way you’ve squandered your gifts. Gorgon, you will need to pull the ship loose. I suggest grappling onto the Waverider. Enjoy your time in hell, Rip.”

The projection vanished. And John turned back to the viewing port in time to see the Medusa send out a blue beam of energy that seemed to engulf the Waverider.

“Captain…” began Gideon.

“I see it,” said Rip. “We need to hack into the ship’s systems and disengage it or we’ll be pulled in too.”

“Whilst the tractor beam _is_ an issue, Captain, a more pressing problem is that energy has been building within the Medusa’s core. It has been set to destruct,” said Gideon.

“Bollocks!” said Rip, sliding into the pilot’s chair again. “Everyone strap in. Even the Waverider won’t survive an explosion like that without damage… if we survive it at all.”

John didn’t need to be asked twice and he settled back into the seat behind Rip, with TC on his right and pulled down the bar.

“Bet you’re glad you decided to ditch the infirmary for some hands-on medicine right now,” said John, to the doctor.

TC gave him the finger, which was entirely justified as far as John was concerned and he grinned in reply. The Doc didn’t look as shaken as John would have expected by this turn of events, but then Rip didn’t tend to hire people who viewed near death experiences as something to freak out about. Rip rapidly worked the controls and John had no idea what he was doing but he hoped that it was something that would get them out of this mess.

“The explosion… The explosion will cut the tractor beam’s power,” said Ray, his face lighting up. “We’ll have a split second before the shock wave reaches us, maybe we could…”

“Jump out,” said Rip, his eyes wide. “Gideon, calculate it. Is it enough time?”

“There will be no margin for error,” said Gideon. “And we cannot let the Medusa pull us closer.”

“Set engines to full reverse,” said Rip, “give it everything you can without it burning out. I’ll need to set up a bypass to stop the emergency cut-out and do a rapid transfer to the time drive otherwise we won’t have enough power to jump.”

“Yes, Captain,” said Gideon, calmly.

“Ray, set the jump co-ordinates, as close to where the rest of the team are in Central City as you can get. I have a bad feeling about what Druce was trying to distract us from,” said Rip.

Ray gave a nod and Rip went back to dealing with the power systems.

“Gideon, jump as soon as you’re free of the beam,” said Rip. “We’re still going to feel this, but we can ride the shockwave. We should be prepared for a very bumpy re-entry though.”

“We get it, Rip,” said TC. “Just get us the hell out of here in the fewest number of pieces possible.”

“I’m doing my best,” said Rip, tersely. “It’s ready, Gideon. Jump as soon as you detect that the tractor beam is no longer holding us.”

“Is Gideon the best person to do that?” asked John, with a glance upwards. “No offence, love, but it’s our lives on the line.”

“Her reactions are far faster than mine,” said Rip. “Especially at the moment.”

“Ten seconds,” said Gideon, and John really wished he hadn’t heard that warning. Ten seconds was a long time when you were in fear for your life. He’d had a lot of experience in discovering that truth.

The actual event seemed to be condensed so that time happened all at once and on top of itself. The Medusa exploded with a cloud shaped exhalation of golden flame, without any sound attached because the vacuum of space wouldn’t transmit it. The tractor beam also gave out and Gideon seemed to take a long time to re-engage the timedrive and jump them out. The blast caught them just as they exited into the bright sun of Central City on a cold day in November. Then there was sound again, the sound of the Waverider almost shaking itself to pieces and four humans having varied reactions to that event. John was fairly sure that he yelled out loud as they were flipped over twice and then hit the ground hard, ploughing into the dirt of their usual dockside landing zone. His head smacked the headrest and he was dazed for a moment, blinking owlishly at the bright light of recently kindled flames as pieces of the bridge came loose with the impact.

Groans from the others around him followed, and the smell of smoke hung in the air.

“Activating fire suppression systems,” said Gideon, and fire extinguishers were deployed from the ceiling to deal with the fires.

John waited for the fog of smoke and fire retardant to be sucked out of the air and replaced with something clearer before he properly assessed the situation. The bridge was a mess, with a ceiling beam halfway across the room and debris scattered everywhere.

“Bloody hell,” he mumbled, unable to get the wherewithal together for anything more vociferous.

“What’s the damage, Gideon?” asked Rip, in a croaky voice.

“Aft stabilisers are malfunctioning, the engines were overtaxed and require a complete overhaul, structural damage to hull plating on port side, flight systems have suffered electrical overload and the time drive coupling has become detached. Minor damage was done to numerous other systems, including the temporal shields which appear to be permanently locked on. Estimated repair time, two days, six hours and twenty minutes,” said Gideon.

Rip visibly sagged in the pilot’s chair. “Great.”

“We need to get Rip back to his room,” said TC, raising his harness and moving to Rip’s side. Without ceremony he took Rip’s wrist and timed his pulse with his watch.

Rip glared at the doctor. “Is that really necessary? I’m not in any imminent danger.”

“Yeah, but I bet you feel terrible,” said TC, “and if you don’t want to set your recovery back then you’ll get back in the wheelchair and let me take you back to your room where I have some nice drugs for you.”

“We don’t have time,” said Rip. “We need to get to the rest of the team, because I’m betting that Druce is there.”

“They went to the museum to deal with Monarch,” said Ray, forgetting that Rip was the one who’d given them the information to find the sarcophagus.

“Makes sense,” said John. “Monarch is exactly what Druce is looking for as it turns out.”

“He is?” asked Ray. “We know he wants another dictator. Probably so that he can do what he did with Vandal Savage but we didn’t work out how he was going to get him to do what he wanted.”

Rip frowned. “That is something of a sticking point, but I assumed he had a way to manipulate him.” He turned to John again. “You said you knew what he was planning. What do you think he is going to do?”

“I don’t know for sure, but given that he was talking about how he didn’t die and clones aren’t really a way of becoming an immortal… I think he’s detached his spirit from his body,” John replied, getting to his feet and brushing the dust off his coat. “And now he’s looking for a new one. It’s called the Rite of Crows and Ash.”

“Bloody hell, it’s Monarch,” said Rip, with realisation. “He wants to inhabit Monarch’s body and have access to all his powers and technology. It’s much easier to take his powers for himself than try to control such a powerful being.”

“Is that possible?” asked TC. “Can you just leave a body? Where’s he been all this time?”

“Maybe in a clone or an android?” suggested John. “And yes, you can leave your physical form, but it takes a lot of juice to pull off that kind of serious magic, and he told us that he wasn’t in debt to anyone. So, my first guess that he made a deal with a demon was wrong. He must have an artifact, or he knows a very powerful practitioner who did the work for him.”

“I’d have known if he was in contact with any entities that powerful, or rather my clone would have. It’s an artifact,” said Rip. “I did my best to hide anything too dangerous from the Time Masters, because even when I was one of them I knew better than to put temptation in their way. That doesn’t mean that other Time Masters were as careful.”

“It would help to know what he’s got,” said John.

“I can’t say, I’m afraid. There are far too many to choose from. Maybe my clone knew, but he’s beyond our reach for now,” said Rip. “At least until we can repair Gideon.”

“Ah well, I do love a challenge,” said John. “You should go back to bed, Rip. TC’s right, you must be feeling pretty bad.”

“I can’t just let Druce transport himself into Monarch’s body. I know I’ll pay for it later, but I have to finish this,” said Rip.

TC let out a loud groan.

“What did I do to deserve you as my patient? You have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming,” said TC.

“That’s quite the hypocritical statement coming from the man who ran back into a burning building to…” began Rip.

“Okay!” said TC and held up his hands in surrender. “Fine, I’m not perfect either, but I’m also not the one who looks like death. If you’re going somewhere then I’m coming with you, because that’s the only way you’re getting off this ship.”

John regarded TC in a slightly new light. People who ran into burning buildings were definitely of more interest to him, especially ones that decided to make sure Rip didn’t kill himself.

“It looks like we’re going monster hunting then,” said John. “And make no mistake, at this point, Druce is definitely the monster. That kind of magic will corrupt you pretty thoroughly.”

“Right,” said Ray, also getting to his feet. “So, we need to get to the museum. The Time Couriers won’t work while the temporal shields are stuck on, the team took the jump ship, and Rip’s in a wheelchair.”

“Gideon, could you call Argus and arrange for transport,” said Rip.

“Argus?” asked Ray.

“The Bureau have a reciprocal agreement with them,” said Rip.

“Yes, Captain,” replied Gideon. “It will take a few minutes to arrange. I suggest you “suit up” and meet at the exit ramp.”

John could hear the inverted commas around the words “suit up” and he suspected that Gideon was laughing at them.

“Good idea. That’ll give me time to check Rip over before we head out,” said TC.

“And I can get together a few supplies,” said John, ignoring the look that Rip was giving TC.

“I’m not getting out of this, am I?” asked Rip.

“No,” said TC, “and everyone here will back me up.”

Rip let out a put-upon groan, but then he allowed TC to help him over to the wheelchair which to John suggested that he didn’t feel quite as well as he was pretending. Time would tell how much of a bad idea letting Rip come on this jaunt was going to be. John was going to need to be ready for anything.


	8. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter. Hope you've enjoyed it.

The large, black SUV that Argus had provided transported them smoothly to the Central City Museum. The Legends had probably been at the Museum for half an hour at this point, so they were moving as quickly as they were able to. TC had given Rip a quick examination in his quarters, helped him to pull on his work clothes (although disappointingly his coat had been left behind as too impractical in the wheelchair), and then shot him full of something that had instantly made him feel much better and he knew he would regret using later. TC had given him an extensive lecture before giving him the injection, but they’d also both agreed it was the only way Rip was going to get through this without collapsing or falling asleep at an inopportune moment.

“This’ll last maybe a couple of hours at most, after that you’ll be out like a light for at least twelve hours,” TC had informed him. “Is that going to be enough?”

“I hope so. If we’re correct then Druce is already at the museum and we just need enough time to stop Druce using the Rite of Crows and Ash to take over Monarch’s body,” said Rip.

TC pressed the needle to Rip’s skin and the deed was done.

“If you feel your heart racing or you feel worse than usual, you let me know immediately. Got it?” said TC, a serious look on his face.

“Got it,” replied Rip. “I realise that this is pushing my body past its already, somewhat tested, limits and I have absolutely no wish to die.”

“Could have fooled me,” muttered TC, but that was the end of the conversation.

Now, as TC wheeled Rip in his chair down the ramp of the SUV, he wondered exactly why he thought he’d be of any use in this situation. Druce probably had an army of clones and androids at his disposal, and even with TC’s magic cocktail of goodness knows what, Rip still couldn’t walk far unaided. Atrophied muscles could not be bullied into healing in just a few minutes, and that was just a fact. Without the Waverider’s advance technology then he’d probably have died due to the substantial damage to his brain following Druce’s attempts to rewrite the clone. He was mending, with Gideon’s help, but it still took time.

It was night and there were very few people around. The museum was quiet, as they found the open door that the Legends had left and made their way inside. Then there was the sound of an explosion from deep within the corridors of the museum.

The four men exchanged looks, and ran (or were pushed) towards the direction of the blast. They rounded a corner into a large hall where various statues and stone sculptures were on display and were greeted with the sight of the Legends fighting it out with a group of Ava clones and Druce androids. The scene was chaotic as Zari made use of her totem and Mick his flame gun. The Flash was in the mix as well, speeding past and dealing with multiple clones in one pass, while Nate had steeled up and punched out at anyone who dared attack him. Sara was avoiding the Avas but dealing with the Druce clones with extreme prejudice. There was evidence of a recent grenade explosion which would explain the earlier noise.

Ray quickly joined the fight, shrinking down to fly past the attackers and then returning to normal size to use his suit’s blaster weapons. Rip pushed himself to his feet, and retrieved his gun from where he’d tucked it down the side of the chair.

“TC, get to cover and stay there,” said Rip, and began scanning the room for the real Druce.

“I can help,” said TC.

“You’ve got no weapons and this isn’t your standard fight. I also might need your medical services before this is all done,” said Rip. “Now do as I said, before you end up needing those services yourself. That’s an order.”

TC gave him a disappointed look, but nodded and took cover behind a large stone casket. Rip ducked behind a statue, where John had also decided to take up position. Rip touched shoulders with the warlock.

“It’s like Where’s Wally but with Druce lookalikes,” said John.

“We need the one performing the ritual,” said Rip.

“I know and I’m looking, but I don’t think he’s in here. He needs somewhere quieter, where he can draw out the symbols and chant without interruption,” said John.

Rip scanned the area, and the many Druce clones that were fighting. There was no way of knowing which one contained the spirit of the real Druce. Rip spotted a sign.

“He’s with the sarcophagus. It’s that way. Come on,” said Rip.

“Can you even walk that far? How long does that stuff TC gave you work?” asked John.

“Not long, which is why we need to move because I am not letting him escape again,” replied Rip, and he ducked behind the next statue, leaning heavily against the cool marble of something that looked like a sea nymph.

John created a portal in front of himself and a second one behind him which meant that no bullets could reach him. He joined Rip behind the sea nymph, and they eyed up the next possible cover locations.

“Didn’t you tell me that non-ritual magic was dangerous and should be used sparingly? That’s the third spell you’ve done today,” said Rip.

“It is dangerous, but so are bullets and androids,” said John. “It’s a risk assessment.”

A chip of marble zinged off the statue.

“Time to move,” said Rip, and opened fire on the nearest Ava clone as he dashed to the statue closest to the door to the room where the sarcophagus was. John joined him a few seconds later.

Rip was breathing hard by this point, and his legs felt like they were made of rubber. They needed to get this done quickly because if they didn’t then Rip would be on the floor.

He made the final jog across the last few feet and into the doorway of the next room, with John behind him. Inside he could see the professional looking display of the sarcophagus that contained Monarch’s inanimate form, there were information boards around the room setting out the many theories about the exhibit and then there was the incongruous form of Zaman Druce, dressed in black robes and with the trappings of a magical rite laid out around him. Druce was inhabiting one of his younger clones, and currently chanting loudly, while two Evan androids stood on guard. The other thing that Rip noted was that there were a series of lights flashing along the side of the sarcophagus, and that could only mean one thing.

“Bollocks, he’s started the rite,” said John, beside him. “That’s going to make it harder.”

“Indeed, and he has also started the process of waking Monarch from his stasis,” said Rip.

“Fan-bloody-tastic, so we are doubly screwed,” replied John.

“Might I suggest we divide and conquer?” said Rip, forcing himself to be calm and think rationally. He wanted to deal with Druce once and for all, but that wasn’t his area of expertise. “I’ll take care of shutting down the re-animation process if you stop the Rite of Crows and Ash.”

“We don’t have much choice do we? Everyone else is busy,” said John, with a glance at the raging battle behind them. “What about the androids?”

“I’ll take one, you take the other,” said Rip.

“Aim for the head,” said John. “That seemed to work last time.”

Rip frowned, and then remembered that there had been Evan androids guarding him when John had come to rescue him with Sara and Ava. Of course John knew how to deal with them.

“Understood,” Rip replied, trying his best not to think about the cell in the Time Bureau basement.

John spoke rapid Latin and a fireball grew in his hand. He aimed it at the two Evan androids and threw. He may have been aiming for their heads, but he missed and it engulfed one Evan, setting him on fire.

“Crap, this is very reminiscent of the last time I met a pair of these things,” said John.

“You’d think you might have remembered that androids don’t burn,” replied Rip, dryly.

“Yeah, you might be on your own with this one,” said John. “I need to stop Druce before he gets any further.”

“I think I can manage it,” replied Rip, “go. Stop him.”

John gave him a quick nod of acknowledgement, rolled his shoulders and headed towards Druce’s ritual circle. Rip had to turn his attention to the androids though. He fired once at the android which John’s fireball had set alight and scored a direct hit in the android’s eye socket, dropping it to the ground as it sparked and smoked. It wasn’t bad considering that his marksmanship practice had been on hold for over a year now. He suspected a good dose of luck and some muscle memory was to be thanked.

The second android was more difficult. Rip fired and missed twice as the android advanced, somehow dodging his fire. He was at point blank range when the android tilted his head to avoid his third shot. The Evan closed on him and he found himself pushed into the sarcophagus, his back hitting the obstacle hard and knocking the wind out of him. The android was fast and it grabbed his gun hand, twisted his wrist and Rip dropped his weapon with a yelp of pain.

The android’s other hand closed around his neck and Rip gasped for breath as he felt his windpipe being squeezed and his chest compressed. His life was about to be ended unless he could escape the android’s grip, and he had no strength with which to fight, even if he had been his usual healthy self. He reached to his belt and pulled out the knife that he always kept there, a lesson he’d learnt early in his childhood and with every ounce of force that he could muster, he stabbed the blade through the side of the android’s skull. Light danced behind the android’s eyes as his brain literally short circuited and Rip felt the pressure on him released. He pushed out with anger and the android fell backwards, unmoving and without power. It was dead.

Rip took a couple of deep breaths and bent down to pick up his lost gun. His heart was racing from the exertion and lack of oxygen, but also because he was scared. He hated to admit it to himself, but the androids scared him just by being in close proximity. Druce had taken an entire year of his life from him and the Evan androids had been a large part of that awful period of existence. Rip didn’t have time to deal with his fear now though. He could not fall apart at this moment, so he did what he always did and pulled himself together enough that losing it later would be an option.

He glanced towards John and saw the man advancing on Druce, flashes of light cannoning off each other as John’s magic came up against resistance. The other Brit was chanting for all he was worth, a hand outstretched in front of him and visibly taxed by the effort of holding out against the magical onslaught. That reinforced Rip’s resolve to ignore his own issues and do what had to be done.

He turned back towards the sarcophagus and began his work. He couldn’t read the symbols, that had not been a lie to Sara and Zari, but he did have an idea of what a few of them meant. He also knew enough about stasis pods that he could understand the basics of their operation. It was somewhat incomplete knowledge that he was working with, but it was better than nothing. He managed to locate a control panel and then he began trying to stop the thaw cycle. The machine was old and it had no wish to be told to do the opposite of what it was currently doing, but Rip was very good with machines. It took several tries, but he got the stasis pod to reverse the cycle and put Monarch back to sleep again.

There was a loud crash from behind him and Rip turned just in time to see Druce moving towards the prostrate form of Constantine. The light of dark magic ran across his enemy’s body like quicksilver and Rip caught a glimpse of a medallion partially covered by his robes. It was glowing a dully purple light, and Rip recognised it. For a moment he was back in Egypt, facing down a man who would one day kill his family. The amulet hung about Savage’s neck, made of gold and Egyptian faience. It had held no power at that point, not until the meteorites had rained down on the palace in which Savage had been a priest. Now, it was an extremely dangerous magical artifact, one that Rip had believed to be lost with its original owner. He should have known better.

John lay amongst the ruins of a broken display cabinet, several metres away from where the two had been fighting and he wasn’t moving. Rip took his gun from his holster, levelled it at Druce’s head and fired a single shot. It found its mark and merely dissipated across the magical energy that ran around the clone’s body. That same body was already showing signs of the strain being placed upon it, but Druce clearly hadn’t cared because he was expecting to vacate that vessel soon.

Rip fired again and this time the shot had the desired effect. Druce turned towards Rip, his eyes glowing a dark purple in their centre that seemed to spill into the surrounding skin and make it seem like his eyes were disintegrating into a black hole.

“Why aren’t you dead yet?” ground out the corrupted former Time Master.

His voice was like the heavy gravel of a midnight graveyard, unearthly and not his own.

“You should know by now that my stubbornness is one of my more prominent personality traits,” said Rip, and he fired again several times into Druce’s face, more to make himself feel better than because he thought it would do any good.

The energy from his gun’s laser bolts simply rolled off Druce, like water on the feathers of a duck. Rip realised that he was out of ideas and the moment to kill his enemy was slipping through his hands rapidly.

“I was told the future, Rip,” said Druce. “This isn’t how I die. I’ve prevented that moment and twisted the timeline so far off course that there’s no way you can ever have the upper hand. I am going to be a god, and I have turned my death into your defeat.”

Druce raised a hand and strange, violet flames rose from his fingers. With a cold snarl on his lips the man sent a burst of the fire towards Rip, and he only just had time to throw himself to the ground to avoid the attack. He tried to push himself up from the ground, only to realise that his strength was leaving him. Moving and standing was putting too much strain on the small reserves of energy that TC’s wonder drugs had given him. He made it to his knees, and raised his gun one more time. He aimed for the amulet around Druce’s neck, and fired again, already knowing that it was a futile gesture. John was already down and Rip couldn’t defeat a man who used dark magic to give himself the ability to swap bodies.

A different type of blast hit Druce from behind him and Rip realised that John wasn’t actually unconscious. He didn’t look good, but he had enough left in him to at least throw a couple of spells at Druce.

“Keep firing at him,” said John, his voice wavering and he blinked at Rip as if he was having trouble focusing.

Druce just put out a hand and stopped the laser blasts.

“It won’t make any difference. I have too much power for you to defeat me, in my hour of triumph,” said Druce. “If you give up now, I may see fit to give you a quick death.”

John mumbled something under his breath in yet another language that Rip couldn’t decipher. John knew magic in a dizzying array of languages, most of which he was also able to read at least a little of. Rip himself spoke several languages but ones that he found useful and could practice with people who also spoke it. Most of John’s knowledge was in dead languages, and Rip had to marvel at how he kept it all straight.

“Amulets are great as a source of power,” said John, and then he coughed and had to take a deep breath which alarmed Rip a little, but he didn’t waiver in his stance. The warlock pressed onward in his diatribe though. “The problem is that artifacts, unlike demons, aren’t unlimited supplies of energy. They’re more like batteries than the National Grid. So, if you use enough power trying to do something, like defend yourself with a magical shield while casting a Rite as tricky as this one, they run themselves down pretty quickly.”

The penny dropped and Rip realised what John had been trying to do. Perhaps that had been the plan all along and John just hadn’t bothered to inform him of it. It would certainly be something that John might do, despite Rip trying to persuade him that communication was key to a successful mission. That debate could be left until after Druce was no longer a threat though.

John was chanting again and this time, instead of his magic bouncing off the amulet’s protection, it seemed to be sucking the power away from Druce. The glow was fading and being transferred to John.

Rip checked his pockets and pulled out the small explosive device that he’d secreted there earlier. He’d had to smuggle it past TC and Ray, who definitely would have advised again taking it. He wasn’t up to throwing it, but rolling it across the floor should be entirely possible. He set the timer for the few seconds that he would need to for it to make the journey. It wasn’t a large device, so, as long as he and John got to cover, then it should be safe enough for them.

The last of the energy seemed to be removed from Druce’s form and John now stood, glowing the same dark purple that had alarmed Rip. His eyes were on fire, and he looked every inch the great magician that he was.

“You’re going to keep hopping bodies unless we do something to stop you. I know what it feels like to have that kind of power at your fingertips and I know you’ve done it before. This isn’t your first rodeo, I can tell by the way your soul is chipped and cracking at the edges,” said John.

Rip got the meaning immediately, and knew that Druce was being corrupted by his use of magic, just as John had said he would be. Even if Rip had wanted to save his former mentor then he doubted there was anything left to save at this point. Druce snarled.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with, John Constantine. Your magic is so chaotic and thrown together that you miss a planned unification. The amulet isn’t my source of power, it’s merely my focus,” said Druce.

Druce reached under his robe and lifted up the amulet. Behind him a small, marble statue which neither Rip nor John had paid much attention to until now, rose upwards off its pedestal and started to levitate. It seemed to be a figurine, thin and stylized with a blank face and arms folded across its chest.

“You’re using the Idol of Persephone. You’re a braver man than me…” said John, but he didn’t take a step back.

“I am simply a _better_ man than you,” said Druce, as he reached out his free hand and the direction of magic began to reverse, taking it back from John and into himself.

John staggered but held his ground and reached out his own arms as if he was attempting to push back on something.

“I think I might dispute that, but she’s a good choice for this rite. One foot in life and the other in death. Nice touch there, but you’re having to spend too much energy on just stopping all that power from eating you alive. You see, all I had to do was get you to let you guard down and it wasn’t even that hard,” and he inclined his head towards the device in Rip’s hand. “Now, sunshine, you’re going to find out why Rip and I make a good team.”

Rip took his cue and threw the explosive. Then he dragged himself behind the edge of the sarcophagus as rapidly as he could manage. He wasn’t able to see where John found to protect himself, but he didn’t have time to worry about that. He ducked his head down and put his arms up to cover his head as the room rocked from the blast. He was knocked sideways, thrust against the sarcophagus and dazed, finding it hard to make his eyes focus on a world without any noise except the ringing in his ears. Smoke filled the room, and Rip coughed painfully.

“John…” he murmured, attempting to look around him through the dense air. “John!” he called out more loudly, as he used the edge of the sarcophagus to help himself to his feet.

Rip leaned heavily against the large stasis pod, and blinked, coughing again. He tried to breathe more deeply but the air around him was too smoky, so he pressed his sleeve to his face and tried to breathe through the fabric. Past the smoke, he could see a purple glow. For a moment he thought Druce had survived, but then the image resolved itself into a trench-coat-wearing blond, and he sighed with relief… until he caught sight of John’s face, twisted in pain and desperation.

“John?” he asked tentatively.

“Leave!” growled John.

“What happened?” asked Rip.

“I took his power and left the circuit open,” said John, with a groan he fell to his knees. “The Idol… it’s too much, even for me. You need to stay away from me, because I _like_ this. I _want_ it. I can almost control it enough… just need a bit of time…”

Rip leaned against the sarcophagus, ignoring John’s words. He shuffled closer.

“Put it back, John. It came from the Idol, it must go back,” said Rip, measuring his tone carefully.

John fixed him with purple, shining eyes and blinked.

“But it’s mine and I took it. Why should I give it back?” asked the warlock, and it sounded very unlike something that John would say.

“Because it’s killing you,” said Rip. “Time to let go.”

“He had a focus…” said John, and he let out a pained grunt. “That’s what kept him from being like this, mostly anyway. That’s what I need and then I can regulate the power.”

Rip looked around and was faced with the sight of Druce’s charred body. His final body. One that there had been no way for him to escape this time. The amulet was still there and Rip grabbed it, not looking too closely at the blackened corpse. The statue was still levitating in an eerie way, unmoved by the explosion or the small fires that had broken out on the floor.

Rip went to hand the amulet to John, but the warlock reached out for it greedily and Rip drew it back. It didn’t seem like a good idea to give this to his friend.

“Er, perhaps I should hang on to this,” said Rip.

“Give it to me!” said John.

“No, you’re better than this. You know that would be a very bad idea. Please, John, you have to let this go,” said Rip

John seemed to freeze for a moment, and he shook his head. He folded his arms around his chest, as if he was trying to keep himself together, much like the figurine.

“Yeah, keep it away from me,” said John, quietly, shaking like an addict.

Rip let out a relieved sigh. “Good decision. Now, what do I do with the amulet to help you get rid of the energy?”

“Put it on the idol, carefully. Don’t touch the stone or you’ll be burnt to a cinder before you can even think about letting go.”

“Noted,” said Rip.

He moved forwards carefully and gently hooked the amulet over the head of the white figurine. He stepped back and John mumbled some new words under his breath. The purple light zigzagged like a bolt of electricity between John and the amulet, until he was once again the normal colour for a human being. The warlock collapsed on all fours and the statue slammed back into its base, as it seemed to drink in the power.

“Bloody hell, that stuff has a kick to it,” said John, and sank the rest of the way to the floor so that he was lying on his back with his legs towards the door.

Rip wasn’t feeling terribly good himself at this point, so lowered himself to the ground until he was lying next to John, but with his body in the opposite direction, legs towards the back wall.

“You kept some of that magic, didn’t you?” asked Rip, knowing it wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah, but not enough to unbalance me. I was very tempted to take the amulet and just walk out of here, but I saw sense,” said John. “You said “please” so nicely.”

“You really are an utter wanker at times,” said Rip, and coughed on the smoke that hung in the air.

“Yeah, but you’re the one that’s hanging around with me,” replied John, with a grin. “Can I snog you later? I’m too tired right now, but it feels like I owe you a good snog or a shag, if you’re up for it?”

Rip laughed.

“That’s a bit fast for me and I think it may be a while before TC lets me out of his sight again,” said Rip. “I think I’m going to sleep for a week.”

This time John laughed. “As if you can stay still that long.”

“Maybe just a couple of days then,” said Rip, and closed his eyes.

He could feel himself drifting away, but then there was the sound of feet running on the hard stone of the floor. He pulled his eyes open long enough to see Sara and the Legends tumble into the room, surprise on their faces. The adrenaline and drugs were wearing off and he couldn’t stay awake any longer. He closed his eyes and felt fingers entwine with his.

“The cavalry arrived! You’re a little late,” said John, sounding tired and far away.

Then Rip was out for the count.

***

“So, where is he?” asked Sara, as she helped Rip to negotiate his physiotherapy workout in the new gym installed in the cargo bay of the Waverider.

Walking was getting easier and his strength was slowly returning as the weeks passed, but his muscles still needed more exercise to return them to their previous levels of fitness. Using drugs to give himself temporary strength had set him back in his recovery, but he’d made up the lost time and was now able to walk short distances without help again. Longer distances were still something he could only dream about for now.

“John said you knew,” Sara prompted.

“Where is who?” asked Rip, innocently, as he wiped away the sweat from his face and hung the towel around his neck.

“The clone,” said Sara, probably well aware the Rip knew exactly who she was talking about. “Your clone. Why haven’t we gone to get him?”

“Because he’s fine where he is and I can promise you that he is in absolutely no danger,” said Rip, sitting down on a crate to get his breath back. “Anyway, I’m surprised you didn’t think to look for him there.”

“He could be anywhere in time and space,” said Sara. “How are we supposed to know where he went?”

Rip shrugged.

“The key thing is that he is basically me,” said Rip.

It was a fact that he’d exploited before. Admittedly, he’d used a spell to find the clone, but he would probably have thought to look for him in the obvious place eventually.

“I know that,” said Sara.

“So, where did _I_ go when I touched the timedrive?” prompted Rip.

Sara frowned for a moment, and then realisation manifested itself across her features.

“He’s Phil?” she asked.

Rip nodded.

“Maybe a slightly more hardnosed version of him, one who might actually get his film made, but basically Phil,” said Rip. “I think he’s happy too, at least that was the feeling that I got from him.”

“We’re not going to get him then?” asked Sara.

“I don’t think so,” said Rip. “The world doesn’t need two Rip Hunters, but I think it may need a Phil Gasmer and his enlightened views on women’s place in cinema.”

Sara chuckled.

“I guess we could do with more films with complex female leads,” said Sara. “But are you sure it’s the right call to leave him there? Isn’t it going to damage the timeline?”

“I’m not sure, but we can ask Gideon to check. The thing is… We both know what we would have to do to bring back the man he was and I really don’t think I want to put him through that,” said Rip.

“Cognitive intrusion. Yeah, we should burn those machines. They’re…” said Sara and searched for a word strong enough.

“Barbaric,” finished Rip, in complete agreement.

“I’ll ask Ava to deal with them,” said Sara. “And the one on the Waverider.”

“I should have got rid of it as soon as I left the Time Masters, but I suppose it did come in useful,” said Rip. “Or maybe I’d have been better off if I’d stayed as Phil.”

Sara shook her head.

“We need you, Rip. You’re the only Time Master left,” she replied.

“Maybe that’s a good thing,” said Rip. “And once again I’m left wondering where I fit into all this.”

“We’ve had this conversation before. You’ll always have a place here. You brought us all together and she’s your ship,” said Sara.

“But I’ve lost the Time Bureau, I’m not the Captain of this ship and really I’m not much use to you at the moment,” said Rip.

“Did you really enjoy being the Director of the Time Bureau, because that really doesn’t seem like your kind of thing? I mean, someone had to put together a new agency to guard time because we can’t do it on our own, so good job there, but leading it? That doesn’t seem like a Rip Hunter thing,” said Sara.

“Are you saying I’m a terrible leader?” asked Rip.

“No, just that you don’t really enjoy it,” said Sara. “And, okay, maybe you’re not a natural at it. But you’re great at being the pathfinder Time Captain, so maybe we should work out a way we can share the Waverider.”

“A ship cannot have two masters, even if one of them is a mistress,” said Rip.

“I wasn’t suggesting that. I’m giving you back the Captaincy, officially anyway. The ship is your responsibility, but I’ll handle mission prep and field assignments. On board the Waverider, you’re in charge, but as soon as we leave the ship, then it’s my responsibility and what I say goes,” said Sara.

Rip frowned and considered the proposal for a moment.

“You’d agree to that? You know it wouldn’t be that neat. There’s bound to be areas of conflict,” said Rip.

“I’ve been spending more time at the Bureau with Ava and I want to make it work with her. I love going on missions with the team but it’s a huge responsibility and I need to make time for Ava too. This might take some of the pressure off. We can work out the details later, and the fact that we argue hasn’t stopped us from getting the job done before,” said Sara.

“No, but it has made it considerably more difficult on a number of occasions,” said Rip. “Also there’s the minor issue that I’m still not physically able to go on missions or even work for a reasonable number of hours.”

“You and John took out Druce when you weren’t even as well as you are now, pretty much on your own,” said Sara.

“Rubbish,” said Rip, “we couldn’t have done it without you and the team dealing with the clone army that he’d assembled. It was a joint effort and I was barely up to it.”

“You just need to give it some time,” said Sara. “You’re making good progress.”

“I suppose so,” said Rip. “Let me think about it?”

“Of course, but don’t take too long,” said Sara.

“I’ll give you your answer tomorrow,” said Rip.

There was the sound of footsteps in the corridor and John came around the corner.

“Ah, Gideon said you should be done by now,” said John. “Can I take him off your hands? I’ve got plans for him.”

John was positively grinning and looking him over in a way that Rip wasn’t quite sure that he liked, or deserved. He wondered if he ever looked at John with such open enthusiasm, perhaps he did because he certainly felt the man was worth such a look.

“Sure,” said Sara, smirking. “He’s worked pretty hard. I think he deserves a reward.”

“Do I get a say in these plans?” asked Rip.

“Nope,” said John. “Come on, I’ll help you shower and change.”

“I don’t actually need help with those things,” said Rip, gingerly pushing himself to his feet and grabbing the cane that Gideon had fabricated for him from where he’d left it against the bulkhead.

That was probably a lie. He was tired enough that help would be welcome at this point.

“Maybe, but it’s faster if I help,” said John. “I’d have brought the wheelchair if I thought you’d use it.”

“You might have persuaded me today,” replied Rip, as he winced at the building aches in his legs.

“Wuss,” said Sara. “I’ll see you same time tomorrow.”

She picked up her own towel and water bottle and left Rip to limp back to his quarters with John. Luckily, nothing was very far away on the Waverider. John was also quite skilled at helping him to shuffle along without making it seem like he was helping, which Rip appreciated.

“How did your errand go?” asked Rip.

“The figurine and the amulet are safely locked away in the vault at the Mill House,” said John. “It’s well warded, before you ask, even from me. Barry and his mates are dealing with the sarcophagus. They’ll find it somewhere safe to rest until its time comes.”

“Maybe we can work out a way to prevent Monarch’s tyranny eventually,” said Rip. “But the timeline around that area is so fragile, it’s hard to know how it would be possible. Ava and the Time Bureau have agreed to make use of their considerable resources to continue looking into the possibility. Sara still wants to throw the stasis pod into the sun, but I’ve pointed out the repercussions of that large a change to the timeline.”

“You told her then?” asked John, with a nod back in Sara’s direction, “About your clone and where he is?”

“I did,” replied Rip.

“And?”

“She agreed with me. We’re not going after him,” said Rip. “Phil Gasmer 2.0 gets to live out his life without our interference.”

“I’m still sad that I don’t get to play with both of you,” said John. “That could have been a lot of fun.”

“You have a one-track mind,” said Rip.

“And who would blame me when I have you pressed so close to me?” asked John, throwing an arm around Rip and taking some more of his weight.

“You do realise that I am worn out and still not up for anything more than a couple of kisses and my own bed, for sleep,” said Rip.

“I’m in no hurry,” said John. “I’ve waited quite a while for you to admit you felt something for me that night in New York.”

“I wasn’t aware that I had admitted anything,” said Rip.

“You admit it every day you don’t throw me out of your room,” said John.

“I wasn’t aware that I had a choice in whether you stayed, or that allowing a friend to sleep on my couch might be taken that way,” said Rip.

“It probably wouldn’t. If I was still sleeping on your couch and not in your very spacious bed,” said John.

“It just seemed unfair to make you hurt your back by leaving you there,” Rip deadpanned.

“So, you don’t care about me after all,” John bantered, airily.

“I wouldn’t say _that_ ,” replied Rip, and pulled John to a halt by grabbing hold of his tie.

John stopped, his eyebrows raised as he looked into Rip’s eyes.

“Where are we going, John?” said Rip.

“Your quarters currently, so that I can see how far you’re prepared to go with both of us naked in the shower,” said John, very deliberately misunderstanding Rip’s meaning.

“That isn’t what I meant and you know it,” replied Rip, with exasperation.

“Do we have to go anywhere?” asked John. “What’s wrong with the two of us having a regular thing that when we’re both in the same place we hook up and have fun together.”

“Because I’m rather more old fashioned than that when it comes to relationships,” said Rip.

“Look, why don’t we just take it one day at a time, hey? I’ve got no problem with exclusivity, if that’s what you want,” said John.

“If we’re in a relationship then we’re in a relationship,” said Rip, “no additional partners or dalliances on the side, agreed?”

“Agreed,” said John.

“And we keep this quiet. There are too many people out there who wish both of us harm,” said Rip. “Obviously the Legends know, and TC but I don’t think we should inform anyone else.”

“Zed and Chas need to know,” said John. “Zed would pick up on it anyway. There’s nothing I can do about that and I can’t keep my best mate in the dark.”

Rip nodded his consent.

“I understand,” he said. “If we keep it to close friends only then that should afford us some measure of protection.”

“Yeah, but at some point someone is going to use this against us and we need to be ready for that,” said John.

“I think we can come up with some plans, just in case,” said Rip.

John gave Rip a smirk in return, apparently already coming up with his own ideas.

“Oh, I know we can,” said John, and chuckled. “I almost pity the poor bugger who tries it. Now, can we get back to my plan for the rest of the morning?”

Rip pulled on John’s tie, enough to indicate that he should move in for a kiss, and the other man took no more prompting than that. They lingered over each other’s lips for a moment, nipping and licking lips before John got impatient and locked his mouth to Rip’s. They kissed deeply until Rip wobbled and John supported him enough that he didn’t fall.

“Come on, back to your quarters,” said John, his voice rough with arousal.

“Good idea,” replied Rip, equally breathily.

They moved off down the corridor, Rip leaning a little more heavily on John than before, but the mood had changed. Rip felt it distinctly. It was time to open a new chapter and see where this one took him.


End file.
